We've Met Before
by Eileen Blazer
Summary: Chance brought a young Rogue into the acquaintance and heart of Remy LeBeau. What will happen when they meet again two years later?
1. Default Chapter

**New Author's Notes: **I've decided to revise this story, just a little bit. The changes aren't big, nothing that requires a second reading of previous chapters. It's just that a few inconsistencies and grammatical errors were bugging me.

_Okay, hi all. Not that I'm not working diligently on the next chapter of TFC, but I wrote this in my spare time. I got stranded at school for a bit (why, WHY can't I drive. Stupid automatic driving test fails) and happened to have a pen and paper. It is another Rogue runs away fic, but different, I swear. Well, relatively different. Anywho, I play around with the character's pasts a little to suit my needs, and make no apologies because, well, I did it on purpose. _

_Before I forget, Rogue and Remy and their little pally pals are MARVELous creations, a pre-existing inkwell of fantastic, brilliant people, into which I simply dip my feathery pen. I wouldn't sue, because, frankly, you'd only end up with fifty cents, a giant, heavy Zoology book, and about ten disks of half-started fanfiction. _

_Read on.  
_

**We've Met Before**  
By Eileen Blazer  
April 2003

**But the world is full of zanies and fools  
Who don't believe in sensible rules  
And won't believe what sensible people say.  
And because these daft and dewey-eyed dopes**

**keep building up impossible hopes,  
Impossible things are happening every day.**

They'd heard rumors that Magneto had gone out and assembled a new team. Apparently the old one, which included his children, weren't competent enough. The X-men had yet to see the Acolytes, but they didn't worry much. They'd defeated Magneto before. They could do it again.

One of the X-Men in particular gave it little to no thought. Rogue had more important concerns than the Master of Magnetism's lackeys. Although… she might've considered things differently if she had known about one of them in particular –the Cajun Mercenary.

* * *

_The Past…_

Mississippi never had much to offer its strange rogue child. Born and raised within its limits, she ever looked to maps and postcards, dreaming away the Southern slur of speech, the close minds of neighbors, and ambitionless, spiteful school teachers, imagining herself a Dorothy, walking down a road of golden opportunity in New York, Paris, or even Venice.

She didn't belong in Caldecott, there was too wide a gap between her and the others, a distance that might've looked as small as a preference of clothes, but felt as wide and stretched as the old River itself. They expected her to calm with age, to relinquish the purple lipstick and love of Poe in favor of fake smiles and parties with her superficially engaged peers. But they had mistaken her soul for a passing fad, and she couldn't stand it.

Walking the streets, her head held high, she'd see a greyhound bus zooming through town, bearing its passengers to nicer, better places. The desire would catch in her throat, suspending breath, filling her feet with the urge to chase after it. Only the memory of her current family would cement her to the gravel, hold her in place long enough for the bus to escape.

But the lust remained. Oh, how she wanted to sink into the waters of a real, honest ocean, taste the salty liquid on her lips. Uncover every secret of every corner of every block in some mysterious city.

On the day she turned 13, determined to please herself for once, fearing she might grow too old and lose her will and identity of the gray, dull town, the Rogue of Caldecott purchased a bus ticket that would carry her far from home. A nervous energy filled her at once, as she stuffed it into her backpack and went on home. But inside the safety of her room, she pulled it out again and kissed it. Twenty-four hours and she would be free.

That evening, over dinner, Irene presented her with a keepsake locket and two hundred dollars. When she spoke, there was a twinge of sadness, and the weight of sorrow in her movements, as though she'd known that the child before her was leaving.

The girl had regrets when Irene clutched her closely and kissed her cheek goodnight. She fell asleep trying to find a truce within herself, a way to satisfy both her own needs, and her little world's as well. But her best efforts were in vain, and the next day, she sat in the back of the bus, a wide-brimmed hat masking her youthful age.

Her peace came as she realized, in looking out the window at the blurry shapes and colors, that Caldecott was still standing still...but she was moving on.

* * *

**Dear Irene,**  
**I'm sure by now you've realized that I'm gone. I'm very sorry,**  
**but I had to get away. I felt like I was suffocating or something.**  
**Please try to not worry too much. I'll write when I can. More info**  
**later, since I don't like to write a lot of personal information**  
**when just anyone can turn this over and read it. All the best,**  
**You're Rogue Child**

* * *

Stop number one was in Jacksonville, a town so similar to her own she wondered if the whole world was really one giant Southern state, and every brochure and web site she'd seen a lie. She sighed in mild despair.

The bus depot was crowded. A man with two missing teeth crouched on the floor and, holding his cap upside down, begged for money. The girl dropped him a dollar and smiled, secretly fearing that she would end up like him, with no family to take her in, no future to look forward to.

She'd just adjusted the strap of her backpack, when someone bumped into her rather roughly, knocking the pack off her left arm. The person kept going without so much as an apology, becoming just a vanishing form with blonde hair and a brown trench coat.

The girl cursed the rudeness of strangers, glaring at the woman until she saw a sparkling bracelet on the floor, left behind. A spiteful voice whispered for her to keep it; it would've served Ms. Rude right. But then she groaned, picked up the jewelry, and ran after the lady. Damn ethics.

"Miss" She was a fast runner. She caught up with her soon.

"Miss! Ah think ya" Her words broke off as she found the lady -actually a girl, her age or so- in a heated conversation with someone else. She hesitated, not wanting to interrupt.

"Dis be all yo' fault. If you'd have jus' killed him, we'd be sippin' wine right now by da fire. 'Stead, we gotta track da fool across da whole damn Sunbelt." The blonde removed the coat and tossed it at her male companion. "An' I hate dat coat, Remy, I swear da second we get back I'm burnin' it."

The male caught her wrist and moved his hand across it soothingly. "_Chere_, I tol' you there's no honor in m' killin'. An' 'sides, da time alone be nice, _non_" She seemed to calm down, until the man continued. "An' what you got against my coat, Bella"

Ms. Rude, Bella, jerked back, offering a shriek of frustration. "It smells like perfume." She spat.

"So"

"So it ain't no perfume I ever wore." She crossed her arms and shook her head. "I'm goin' t' buy our next ticket, I t'ink he's headin' f' Alabama next. I know its hard f' you t' resist da femmes, but try an' not get caught up wit' some fille while I'm gone. I'm sick o' washin' de lipstick off yo' collar." With that, she marched off. The man, Remy, dropped his head into his hands.

Rogue bit her lip and jingled the bracelet in her palm, debating her next move. The Remy guy did seem a bit more approachable than Bella. Maybe she could give it to him, and he could return it the blonde girl?

She neared him cautiously, first rapping on his shoulder, and then jumping as far back before he lifted his head as the laws of physics would allow. He ran a slow hand through his long, tousled hair before sighing and opening his eyes. But when he finally got around to it, it was a sight to behold.

His eyes were black. Not black pupils, or dark brown that reflected black in poor lighting, or black contact lens, but honest- to- goodness black. There was no white in his eyes at all. From a distance, it must have seemed as though they were just empty sockets, but she was close enough to see that flickers of red would appear, like a ring a fire.

"Wow." She whispered, wondering how such a look was accomplished. Then the Remy guy chuckled. She blushed, ashamed at her behavior. "Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean nothin' bad 'bout ya, Ah just ain't neva' seen anyone with eyes like that. How did ya...how did ya do that"

"Dat be a question for da Almighty, _Chere_, o' at least a good scientist."

She nodded numbly. "Oh, 'course. Ah'm sorry again, Ah tend ta think aloud, an' Ah can't stop m'self from askin' stupid questions."

He smiled again, and this time she was able to register the white row of perfect teeth and five o' clock shadow on his lean chin. "Don' be ashamed o' dat. T'ink o' all da people who hold it all inside, an' it festers in 'em like rotten leftovers in de frig. C'mon, sit down." He scooted over and patted the bench where he was sitting. "What's yo' name, _Chere_"

"Um...that's a secret" she answered"Ah'm not too keen on gettin' tracked by anyone, ya see." She filled the space beside him and smelled, faintly, a cologne and cigarette mixture. She liked it.

"A nameless runaway, she is." He motioned, as though he were going to put his arm around her, and she froze, and then he came away, having taken the postcard from her pocket.

"Hey, how'd ya get that" She said. It had been stuffed in her back pocket. But she didn't even feel him take it.

"It be a secret." He answered in a teasing voice, while his eyes skimmed her writing. "So yo' just a Rogue, _Chere_? Wanderin' from town t' town" Remy gave her back the letter.

The girl, the self-titled Rogue, said yes. She fidgeted, moving her thumbs back around in her lap, then her feet. Why was she suddenly so nervous, just because she was speaking to a slightly older boy with flaming eyes in a Jacksonville bus depot, carrying his girlfriend's expensive bracelet?

The bracelet!

She quickly produced the precious item. " Ah almost forgot. Um, Ah think you're girlfriend dropped this when she passed me earlier. Ah wanted ta return it to her but she seemed...busy." She cast a glance down the way Bella had traveled.

As if sensing her real thoughts about the blonde, Remy laughed softly and accepted the bracelet. "Don' t'ink too bad o' her, she's right most o' da time. But I not be as bad she t'inks. Sure, there's da occasional fille in m' arms. But it don' mean nothin'."

"Oh" Rogue saw the boy and knew he probably didn't have any difficulty finding candidates for one-night stands. Was this the boy they always warned her about? She knew for sure that there was no one in Caldecott like him. "Hey, what does _Chere _mean anyway? Is that...French"

"_Oui_. And _non_. De language is French, but de Cajuns take it an' make it our own. "

"Cajun." Rogue repeated, thinking of her history books. "So you're like a Cody an' a Pierre smashed togetha'"

"Mais, I prefer t' t'ink o' myself as unique. But, Chere, you can t'ink o' me anyway y' wan'." He gave her a grin that let loose a thousand butterflies in her stomach.

"Ya neva' tol' meh what that means."

"It means 'dear'. An' _belle_ means beautiful."

"Ya didn' call meh _belle_."

"Must've t'ougt it den."

It was daytime, but the lighting was relatively poor. She was thankful, for it hid –at least, to some degree- the blush that temporarily paint her face red. "Well, Ah guess Ah delivered the bracelet like Ah planned. Ah gotta go an' uh...uh..."

"Make plans t' run farther" He offered.

"Yeah, that sounds about it."

She stood up to leave, but he caught her arm, much like he'd stopped Bella a few minutes before. Chills didn't run down her spine, they pranced, taking their sweet time, playing havoc with her senses as his skin touched hers. "Don' go _Chere_, an' leave me all alone. I don' get t' talk t' nobody."

"Ya got Bella, don't ya? Ah mean, Ah hope ya can talk ta her. She is ya girlfriend."

His head dropped to the other side. "Fiancé" he sighed. "We be two months away from eternal bliss." Remy sounded as though bliss were a universe away, instead. Rogue pictured him and Bella at the altar together and found the image wasn't quite right. Was it because they were too young, or just not rightly matched?

But she smiled for him. "Congratulations. Ah hope ya have a lifetime o' happy memories and such." Was it bad that she didn't mean it?

Remy rolled his eyes. "We got enough time t' try an' make 'em. Bella t'inks marryin' young means we love each other mo', like Romeo an' Juliet. An' she t'inks de _filles _will stop talkin' t' me when dey see de ring."

"Is she wrong"

He looked away. "It ain't dat I don' love Bella. I tol' you I do. None o' de girls I kiss make me feel like she does. Like bein' tied down ain't such a bad t'ing. But there's a whole lot o' resentment in our families an' I just wan' mo' time to convince 'em we not just playin' house. Marryin' de day o' my sixteenth birthday not gonna make 'em happy."

"Have ya asked Bella ta wait" Somehow she didn't think the blonde would say yes.

"_Non_."

"Why not"

He hesitated to answer, then pulled her down so that she was eye to eye, only a foot between them. His red eyes were more intense now, pulling her in a hypnotist's spinning wheel. "I'm scared she'll leave me. _Mebbe_ it ain't right for a _homme_ t' feel dis way, but I want t' be in love, _Chere_. I just wish I was absolutely sure Bella was de one I want t' be in love wit', 'fore I give her everyt'ing I got."

They slipped into silence for a moment, before he laughed. "I must be tired. Spillin' my guts to de lil' _fille_ who just wants t' return de bracelet I gave Bella."

"Don't worry about it. Ah like hearin' 'bout people most o' the time. The exception, o' course, is my gym coach, Mrs. Waters. The woman drones on an' on 'bout how she almost made the Olympics. Ah swear, if Ah have ta hear 'bout the broken leg that ruined her life one more time, Ah'm gonna go stark ravin' mad."

"Wanna go fo' a walk" He asked suddenly, stretching, showing off the muscles in his chest and arms.

"Ain't ya waitin' on someone"

He scrunched his nose. "She'll find me soon enough."

"Such the gentleman."

"Don' I know it." She linked his arm with hers and they walked off, not in the direction in which Bella had stalked, but towards the moving buses. There, she supposed, the throngs of people in line, waiting to board, would camouflage them.

"So you from Mississippi"

"Uh huh. Born an' raised."

"Really. Guess dat makes you a Southern Debutante, non"

"I've been told such."

"Yet you leavin'. No don' tell me why. I guess." He placed a hand to his forehead, and another on hers. "They don' like y' back home. They not understand you."

Rogue rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "Come off it. Ah've seen the Wizard o' Oz more times than Ah can count."

He shrugged. "Fine, fine. But I can' be blamed f' entertain' us however I can, since you won' cooperate...I know. What's de worst t'ing you ever done"

"What"

Remy led her by the arm, further into the crowds. "Do y' know how t' steal _Chere_"

"Steal"

"Shh." He covered her mouth. "Nothin' serious. Jus' a few dollars from a rich lady's pocket o' somet'in'. Its fun."

"Yeah. Right up 'til they lock the cell door"

"Have t' be caught f' dat. An' I'm gonna teach how t' not get caught."

"Ah think Ah better get goin'." She tried to remove herself, but his grasp was too strong. He winked, reassuringly, and pointed to an upper class looking, middle-aged woman with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

"See dat type. They carry everyt'in in da purse. Pockets ain't fashionable. Now, when we get close, y' have t' move fast. I seen dose purses a lot, da latch go forward, den all de way back again. Stick yo' hand in, but keep it as close to you as y' can. Take da wallet and move away."

"No thanks." They neared her.

"A few dollars not gonna break da bank."

"Let me go."

Remy sighed. "Someday, y' gonna master dis trick." So he brought her closer and twirled her instead, catching the attention of everyone. He skillfully pranced her around the lady, away from watchful, bemused eyes, into some more secluded corner. She laughed, despite herself, enjoying the twists and turns of their impromptu dance, liking his artful steps and the way he led her.

"See, dat was fun, non" He said when they were alone enough.

Rogue answered"well yeah. But that' 'cause Ah didn't see nobody bein' victimized."

"Mebbe y' weren't lookin' hard." He reached into his own pocket and pulled out an embroidered woman's coin purse, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

Rogue was shocked. "How...when..." He couldn't possibly have swiped it while everyone's eyes were on them. He wouldn't have risked it. He didn't have time!

"Y' missed da lesson, t'day, but sometime in de future, I teach you some real secrets." And then he dropped the purse into the slot near them, the little tray that read: lost and found.

"Ah can't believe ya did that. Its impossible."

"_Chere, Chere, Chere_" he shook his head"Don' y' know not'in's impossible"

"But..."

"They for sittin' on and admirin', not makin' a valid point wit'."

She grinned. "Ah'll let ya think ya won this conversation."

He threw his hand over his heart. "How sweet. If only dey knew you in N'Awlins. You know, dat's de most beautiful place, sometimes. Perfect fo' someone like you. If you go out at night, y' can hear de crickets chirpin', an' de stars in de sky, and dere's always music in de background, 'cause everybody knows dat good musicians are nocturnal."

"Aw look at you, soundin' like a lil' boy missin' his swamp." She played, but adored the affection in his voice. It added a whole new layer to his thickly accented talk.

"I do miss de Bayou, _Chere_. M' Tante Mattie's cookin' is de best. _Mais_, 'cept for mine." His voice was wistful and light.

"So if ya wanna head on home, why don' ya"

"I got...ties. Loose ends. Bella's got a job t' finish fo' we retire."

"Ah, back ta Bella."

"Never endin' story, non"

"If you love her so much, you should stop worryin. An' if ya can't, ya should pack on up and say farewell, 'fore ya both make a bigger mistake."

"But how to decide, dat's what troubles me. What's y' suggestions, doctor"

Rogue chewed on her thumbnail. "Hmmm. Let's review the situation. Ya make out with girls ya find attractive ta see if there's a connection. But there neva' is. Even so, ya keep askin' _what if_."

"_Oui_."

"Well, Mr. Remy" she used a fake psychologist voice" all Ah can advise is that ya the next time ya fancy a gal, kiss her, and make ya choice based on that. Either Bella's worth it, or she ain't. Its a gambit"

"I like those."

"-but isn't everythin'"

"Dat's a good idea."

"'Course it is. Didn't I think it up"

"Da next girl." He repeated.

"Yup."

"Hey, Roguey"

"Yeah, Mr. Remy"

"What if da next fille, she be standin' in front of me right now."

She froze, caught completely off guard. "Ah..Ah...Ah...um..."

Remy pressed a finger to her lips, shushing her, and pushed her gently into the wall, then replaced his hand with his own lips. He caught her surprise and chuckled, holding to her waist, all the while placing a series of brief kisses on her mouth. And just when Rogue thought she could handle the dizziness of her head, and the wobliness of her knees, and the pounding of her heart, beating as though it were about to burst out of her chest, he kissed her harder and held her to him.

She felt the outline of his mouth, and then nearly jumped as his tongue begged for entrance. Lost in a tidal wave of emotions, she gave him what he wanted, knew she would have given him _anything_ he wanted, because the world had turned to a giant kaleidoscope, spinning and twirling and she'd grown wings, and she wanted to fly to heaven but found herself already there.

Did the French do everything better? They had better breakfasts, better wine, better tourist stops, and if the Cajun personally escorting her to the edge of the universe was any indication, better American posterity. And, oh, their kisses were _absolute euphoria_.

Remy finally broke away, and it felt like someone was ripping off half her soul. She cried out and reached for him.  
"Shh. Roguey, we have...to stop." He was frowning deeply now, as breathless as she, staring at her lips like a starving man peering into a restaurant window, all the longing and aching apparent on his features. He dropped his head to her shoulder, exhaling loudly, then muttered something that sounded like 'screw it' and kissed her again.

This time around she made certain to kiss him back as best she could, and it was her arms keeping the air from seeping between them. Were two people supposed to fit so well together? They kissed every way they could in following moments, long and slow and sweet, fast and fierce and powerful, and all ways it was beautiful.

And then at last, the volcanic eruption of passion dissipated and they gasped for air, remembering their situation and their reality. Rogue saw their reflection in a nearby window, realized she was completely wrapped around the Cajun her arms on his neck; her legs, at his waist. Even with just his back visible, they made a good-looking couple. With great reluctance, she relinquished her hold on him, slid down until she was looking up to him again.

"Merde, Roguey, you were s'pposed t' settle de doubts 'bout Bella."

"Ah thought Ah did" she responded, before she could stop herself.

He cocked his head to the side and nodded. "Guess so." He was deeply troubled, she could tell, but there was a quiet thrill in her body, like an aftershock, that she could have affected him so. He paused. "You know dat I have t' go back t' her, _Chere, _'least right now."

She nodded, like she knew it all along, but it hit her like a speeding semi. "'Course. An' Ah gotta get the hell outta Mississippi. No strings on mah back."

He nodded too. "She's prob'ly waitin' right now."

"Ya oughta go ta her."

"_Oui_."

There was a call over the loud speaker, announcing that Rogue's bus would be departing soon, and any passengers should report immediately. She heard it, and smiled at Remy one last time. She gave him a wave and ran away, before she could change her mind.

"See ya around some time."

In the end, even Dorothy decided to split her time between Kansas and the magical Oz. Rogue, keeping the nickname, went on to see several states alone. She traveled quickly, and the postcard received many revisions. But when Irene read the final version, there were tears in her eyes and joy in her heart, because it had been hand-delivered by Rogue herself. Mississippi was still gray and dull, and no more her place than it had ever been. But she learned happiness in the love of family, and Irene would take her away often.

She studied French constantly, drowning herself in information, memorizing Bayou history, and always dreaming of Remy the Cajun. Soon enough, the language flowed from her lips like a native speaker.

Eventually, she dated, things got serious between her and Cody. She wanted to know if all kisses burned like Remy's, if they touched the bottom of her soul. She wanted to know if theirs had been truly special, or if Remy had returned to Bella because she'd hadn't made a difference to him. But the answer would never come, because the very first time she tried to kiss Cody, her powers manifested and placed him in a coma.

Nearly three complete years after she'd met him, she joined the Brotherhood, under the guidance of Mystique, who taught her all about mutants. It was then she realized that Remy must have been a mutant himself, his eyes an ever present sign. She wondered what his powers were.

She dreamed of him, sometimes it would hit her unexpectedly, the taste of his kiss, like melted chocolate swirling in her mouth. Other nights she would pray for the memory to surface, and she'd lie there, reliving it slowly, as though she were watching a movie.

She didn't think she'd ever see him again.

* * *

Remy. Gambit, they said his name was, smiled at her, and for an instant she saw a flicker of the stranger she'd made out with against the wall of some Jacksonville bus stop.

He was older now, even leaner, taller, and most disturbingly, his eyes were brown. Brown like the bottom of the dirty river. His hair was shorter, and lacking the messy appeal he'd had that day. But it was he, she was certain.

Was he happily married? She didn't see Bella working for Magneto, but she couldn't be sure. Was there a ring on his hand? Did he even remember her?

Rogue watched as one of his cards exploded, and sighed. Whatever their past, they were enemies now, and she couldn't let a moment years gone by affect her ability to fight with her team. For the present, she have to think of him no differently than the giant tin can and walking match.

But the future? Days before, chances of meeting him again had been slim to none. Yet here she was. So maybe it was unlikely that she'd bring him over to her side, but hey...

Nothing's impossible.

* * *

Fin

**And here we are, at the end of the story. As I think I mentioned, I just kind of pulled it together while waiting for my ride, so forgive the bad spots and bad plots. I must add, this fic was more for myself than usually. I'm sorry, but that's why I didn't pay too much attention to little details. It was just a fun diversion that I decided to share with you all.**

**Because it is a one shot, I can't thank any reviewers in the next chapter. So, letting my ego loose for a second to assume that at least one person will be kind enough to review, I offer my eternal gratitude. However, if you'd like a more personal response, you could always go and review the latest chapter of my current story, The Freedom Caper, and I can respond to that when I post my next chapter (which will be sometime late Sunday, early Monday morning) hint, hint**

**Questions? Comments? Coconuts? You know where to find me!**

**Remember"Only love can conquer hate"**


	2. Two

**New Author's Note**: As I said, most changes are minor. Chapter two is the exception. I didn't quite like the way the Remy/Bella scene played out. It's been redone a little.

_Well...its official, I have been bought. Yuppers. I feel like I've been commissioned to write the rest of this story. So I will, I guess. A little frightened now that so many people reviewed, but I'll try to keep it worth reviewing. Please. _

_Let's see how this puppy plays out, shall we? Not an overdose of Rominess in this chapter, but a bit of a recap from Remy's POV._

**We've Met Before  
Chapter 2 **

Within the recesses of the Acolyte home, things weren't happy. It was late when they finally trudged past the door, feeling miserable. They'd failed at their first task, lost the first battle with the infamous X-men, and gone home empty-handed.

Well...most had gone home empty-handed. Remy LeBeau thought himself the exception. He'd come away with a very important piece of information and while there may have been no joy in Magnetoville, he couldn't have been more thrilled.

Imagine, coming to Bayville just to kill time, and finding a treasure. The girl he'd met so long ago, the girl that had melted into his arms and mouth like butter over warm toast, and proven to be such a milestone in his life in general, was waiting for him.

* * *

Were there words yet invented that could be used to tactfully end an engagement?

Remy sat alone in the kitchen section of the hotel room he shared with Bella, scribbling notes on a pad while she bathed. She always did that after a job, spent at least an hour soaking in the tub, as if to wash away the blood of her latest target. Maybe, he thought, that was how she kept herself free of guilt. Maybe she was symbolically cleansing her conscience.

Not that he sat there contemplating Bella's rituals. He had more important things to think about... like, how to break up with her. Which brought him back to his question: was there a way of doing it without awakening her wrath and pulling the Guilds into the mess? His Tante Mattie always said he had a gifted mouth; whenever he parted his lips to speak plain words, she teased, ribbons of perfect silk spilled out instead. If, indeed, she was right and did he possess some kind of talent for oration, he'd need it when ending things with Belladonna.

After all, how would he have felt if things had been the other way around? If, after a lifetime of friendship and many years of love, the lovely blonde had pulled him aside one day to say that it was all over. Remy didn't think he would've taken it well. And he didn't have Bella's temper, either.

If only that stranger girl hadn't felt so damn good in his arms. God, but she'd warmed him like a heated blanket on an ice-cold day. Rogue hadn't made him forget Bella, not really, but she'd made him not care about her. Bella could've been standing right in front of them, and he might not have noticed.

Remy sighed. He'd been asking for trouble all along, always testing his love for the blonde. It had all seemed so easy: kissing girls, finding them pleasant, but unmemorable in the end. His family didn't approve of his engagement to Bella; they always thought he'd wind up betraying her and bring war upon the Guilds instead of peace. His little tests had been a way to prove them wrong. He could lock lips with every girl who wandered by, and be unmoved. But one kiss with Bella and his heart would skip a beat.

If only it hadn't stopped entirely, when he'd kissed the stranger.

Groaning, Remy let his head drop onto the counter. Maybe, he thought, rather desperately, if he hit his head hard enough, he'd have brain damage and then he wouldn't have to consider the problem at all. He wondered if it was a bad sign, that that was his best option yet.

Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders, massaging the tension away. Remy heard a voice coo, "Why y' lookin' so blue, _Cher_?"

"It's nothin'." He said, shaking his head. "I'm just tired, is all. I miss home."

That much was true. Remy loved the Bayou: the swamps and their murky waters, gentle buzz of insects, and cool, moist air. He adored the city, and its hustle of people, shuffling in and around at night, streaming from club to restaurant like schools of brightly colored fish. He liked owning the places he visited, the freedom to walk around, to be greeted by familiar faces and given the respect shown to a Prince of Thieves. The men there admired him for his skills. The women adored him for his smooth words.

It was cliché, but Remy knew there was no place like home.

"Oh, poor baby," she said, kissing the top of his head. Her hands slipped around his waist. "Can't I help alleviate y' homesickness, just a little?"

"Naw, I got t' finish up some sketches 'fore we leave here." Remy held up the pad for her to see.

She pulled it out of his fingers and tossed it back onto the counter. While he sighed and reached for it again, Bella came around so that they were face to face. Her clear blue eyes sparkled. "C'mon, Remy. Since when do you put work first?"

"Since always," he insisted, giving up on the paper, and instead, running his hands through her damp hair. He suppressed a sigh. She was but a box of matches to his hands, this Boudreaux girl. Dangerous but thrilling, tempting, alluring, mesmerizing to watch but painful if he held on too long. They'd been friends for years, buddies, pals, _amis_. They'd learned the crafts of their trade at the same time. He'd taught her to catch fireflies, she'd taught him to kiss. "Why don't y' go shoppin' o' somet'in'. Buy y'self a new dagger."

Rather than answer him, Bella leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Instinct moved his arms closed around her. She tasted like mint, smelled like soap, and felt soft as flower petals. Everything about her was warm and comfortable and nice. A surge of regret filled him. Could he really be planning on giving her up?

Not his Bella.

His future queen.

His blonde beauty.

And for what?

One stranger? One kiss that had lasted for just a moment, just a brief flash when compared with the rest of his life? One pair of green eyes that had seemed to be at the same time amused, scared, excited, curious, and thrilled? One innocent face? One lovely, unforgettable girl?

Lord help him, he _did_ want to give Bella up for that.

He pulled away from the blonde and smiled kindly at her. "Bella, I got t' tell y' somet'in'."

"What is it?" She wondered.

"I..." he took a deep breath. "I, uh...I have y' bracelet. Da one wit' da lil' diamond rose dat I gave y' f' Christmas."

Her eyes went wide. "I've been lookin' everywhere! I thought I lost it. How did it come t' yo' hands, Mr. LeBeau?"

Remy shrugged. "Y' dropped it at da bus station in Jacksonville. Someone returned it. I meant t' give it back, but I completely forgot 'til now."

"I love dat bracelet. I always show it off t' m' family at home when they start on what a bad catch y' are. I'm so glad it was returned, Remy. I wouldn't want t' lose it anymore n' I'd want t' lose you." She smiled widely at him and tried to pull him away from the stool. "Let's go out f' breakfast, Remy. You can finish da pictures later. Our plane doesn't leave f' another six hours. We got all da time in da world."

He smiled back at her, but it was a grin just for her, and not at all for himself. They didn't have nearly as much time as she thought.

* * *

Eloquent speeches didn't prevent her wrath when the bomb was dropped at last, several months later, nor did they stop the ill-fated duel that left her brother hospitalized and tensions rose between the Guilds. He'd brought to life his family's every fear. Unable to bear the thought of causing war, Remy went into self-exile.

He traveled alone, growing weary, missing his home and the comforts of a family. Though he never lacked in female companionship, or wealth, he felt like a lonely pauper. One day, after more than two years, he came into contact with a mysterious Magneto. The man had a cause that needed supporting; Remy needed a cause to support. He jumped on the bandwagon, along with a reserved Russian and outspoken Australian.

They moved to Bayville, and lo and behold, who should greet him but the rogue girl, now more formally a Rogue. He found his attraction, once forgotten, or perhaps pushed aside, suddenly back, and stronger than ever. She'd grown, wonderfully. He could still, Remy was pleased to realize, feel her in his hands all over again with remarkable clarity.

Here she was, a worthy prize, his secret goal. Did she remember him? Did it matter? The answer to the former was unclear, for she'd addressed him in the same manner of his partners, but stared at him oddly. The answer to the latter was obvious: no, for either way, he'd have her see things his way.

Remy landed pretzel-style on the chair, opening the laptop that rested there. He typed a few commands, searching for any information on the word 'Rogue'. Window after window appeared, a startling amount of her history accounted for in their records. The home where she'd spent the first years of her life, a large, white, two story, Victorian building surrounded with trees. Her guardian, a blind woman named Irene. Her first friend, the Labrador puppy called Chance, and her first boyfriend, a football player named Cody.

Nowhere did it mention her first kiss. He smiled. Could it have been the one she'd shared with him?

He came upon a full-length picture of her and enlarged it. This was the girl whose kiss had changed his life. Who'd shaken him to his core. He leaned in closer, staring at her, memorizing every new detail, confirming every old memory.

Piotr had entered quietly, unnoticed; now he settled himself on a couch, folding his hands. "You seek to hold the forbidden fruit, Gambit."

"Can't a _homme_ study his enemy? We lost t'day. I don't want a repeat performance." _Or rather, I do, I jus' don't want y' t' know, Petey._

"Yet your eyes tell a different story."

There was no way to take back the whatever look he'd been wearing when the Russian entered. But he could still cut his losses and prevent any further questions. "I look at m' foes in many lights."

Piotr shook his head. "I read you're expression, sly friend. It was not the calculating gaze of one enemy observing another, in any respect. Be wary. Don't let your heart interfere with business"

"You t'ink in black an' white. Love an' hate. But don't waste y' worries on me. I not be da madly-in-love type. Whatever I see in her, dis girl be a diversion at best."

"Then you've picked a poor playmate. You have her profile there, read on." Gambit heard the unspoken message, a gentle reminder of the girl's powers. Meant to discourage him. Poorly conceived, however, because he was instead drawn to the knowledge that he, only, knew the taste of her lips, the throaty gasp she gave in complete abandonment of her inhibitions, the outline of her body flush against his own.

At sixteen, she'd been altered slightly. Taller, leaner, more muscular under the form-fitting outfit of her team. A mutant, with all of a mutant's caution and fears. Her posture was rigid; the upward tilt of her chin, haughty and her eyes that spoke of coldness. Dying to be warmed, though, and filled with such character that betrayed her hidden sweetness. "She's untouchable, _non_?" He said.

"Even for you."

Gambit pulled a card from thin air, spinning it on his thumb before flipping it from his hands, in such a way that it hit a key on the laptop and closed the windows. Then he snapped it shut and swiveled in his chair to face Piotr. "Den dis is a waste o' time. Come on, we bot' have better t'ings t' do."

* * *

_And there we go, the end of the chapter. Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode when...gasp...drum roll...they meet again. What will happen? How will they react to one another? How honorable are Remy's intentions? Will the author ever shut up? Who knows!!! So come back! _

_And review!!! Review, review, review, review, review. _

Acknowledgements:

Rogue Star, Bettie-chan, Lynx, Jebrylla, Rilo: Thank you guys, oh, so very much for your kind words. They encouraged me to continue.

Ishandahalf: Er, sorry about the Bella, but well, I had to let people know that he wasn't with her any longer. Don't hurt me! Thanks for the review!

Tenshi Kanashii, Ninnat 3, Todd fan, Bunny Angel: You guys are so nice. Thank you, v. v. much. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Trunksgirl: Grrr. Hope you're happy, I haven't studied at all for my midterm!!!! See what you do!!! Thanks for liking this though. Hope it pleases. If not...you're still bound by obligation to review!!!!! Bwahahaha!

Goddess Evie: Aahh, you make me blush! Thanks for such kindness, and for liking it so well!  
Hope I do not dissapoint now that I've decided to continue with it.

Lulu, B.M.Wraith, 8, Anony, Trix, Me (but not _me)_, me (but not me, either), The Flying Pen, Gothic Rogue, Dark Elf and N: I thank you, so sweetly, for reviewing my story so neatly...hey that kinda fell apart. Guess I'm no munchkin. But I do offer my deepest gratitude for your reviews. :)

SilverStarWing: I hear you're from another part of the world. Thanks for stopping by and liking this!

Panther Nesmith: I never got to tell you, but I did accept your offer to sip hot chocolate. How could I refuse chocolate? Thanks you!

Gaea: Persistant, you are. Update, I shall. Now, will turn off the star wars. :)

Kaosda: I thank you, but don't base you're worth on reviews. Mine either, for believe me, I've had my share of poorly recieved fics. You are a great writer. :) And a wonderful reviewer!

Readers of my other fic, TFC, will have one more chapter before I disappear for a while. For this story, I guess I'll see you in a week or two. Or three, but no more than that. I promise. And it'll be a longer chapter than this. :) Bye now!

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? You know where to find me!


	3. three

**New Author's Notes**: No big differences here. Read on.

_Wowsers, its been forever, hasn't it. But here we are. Another update. Yay! Sorry about the long delays between chapters. :) Thanks for reading and reviewing; please see post-chapter notes for individual replies. Thanks again!_

**We've Met Before**  
**Chapter 3**

Events were easy to manipulate. Putting people in the right places at the right times, Gambit could do that in his sleep. Just make a suggestion, whisper in someone's ear, _make up a false message from Magneto and give it to the Brotherhood..._

Like stealing candy from a baby -no, easier than that, because taking a child's lollypop would have caused him considerable guilt. This, he didn't even think twice about. It was simple. He whistled to himself as he rode down the street in a motorcycle borrowed from an aging member of Hell's Angels.

* * *

Itchy gloves were hell to wear. The scratchy fabric poked Rogue's arms like a thousand tiny needles, running from fingertip to elbow, irritating her to no end. She would have liked to yank the offending apparel off, light a match, and watch them disintegrate into ash with wicked delight, though simply removing them would have sufficed. Unfortunately, she was crammed tightly in a green SUV with the newest recruits to the X-mansion and something told her the professor wouldn't be happy if one of them had to be carried out of the vehicle on a stretcher.

Although...if that Danvers girl kept staring at her like that, she might throw caution to the wind and take the her chances. Carol, that was her first name, an annoying, tall blonde, a regular Barbie doll in high heel boots and chiffon skirts. Her parents had been reluctant to send her to the school, and frankly, Rogue had been reluctant to pick her up, but the professor felt they could benefit from her presence, and visa versa.

Go figure old bald guys.

She watched Rogue like a butterfly must watch a moth, recognizing the similarities, thankful for the differences. Bored already, Rogue wanted to ask. _We've only been in the car a few minutes. Sure you wouldn't rather stay at home? Spare me the headache of tolerating your arrogance?_

She suspected that the greatest challenge they'd have with Danvers was climbing over that mountain-sized ego. So what if her powers afforded her great strength and something about invulnerability and flight. All blah-blah-blahs to Rogue's weary ear.

Needless to say, the introverted Goth didn't like playing advocate for the team, despite her loyalty to them. Why did Xavier decide to take his oldest students, Jean Grey and Scott Summers, who were like walking geysers, spewing compliments about the school constantly, on a special vacation, leaving her to do the dirty work of gathering and introducing newbies to the wonderful world of mutantdom.

"Hey, Mr. McCoy, can we go a lil' faster?" She sunk deeper into her seat and met the icy glare of Carol Danvers again.

Mom, she'd said, I can come back on weekends, right? I don't have to stay there with _them._ The newcomer blew a speck of dust from her nails. "So like, when is Xavier coming back? There are other members, aren't there?"

A younger girl with light green hair and a toothy grin, beamed with pleasure and joy. "I can't wait to see the mansion. A real, live mansion. This is incredible. Going to school with all mutants, like me. Super cool. Oh, I'm Lorna, by the way."

"Yeah." Carol said, uninterested. "That's nice."

To Lorna's right, another girl sat, nineteen-year-old Betsy, a transfer from England. She was to serve as a teacher while Xavier helped her reign in her physic abilities. Another telepath, like Jean, but also a ninja. According to Xavier, Betsy was a friend of millionaire Warren Worthington III.

Betsy was relatively small, with lots of lavender hair suspended back in a severe ponytail that left only a brush of bangs to decorate her round face. She'd been quiet so far, probably reading people's minds, Rogue thought.

As if in response, a tiny smile graced Betsy's lips.

Outside, evening was rapidly approaching. The sky had turned into a caramel colored impressionist painting, with a smeared orange-ish sphere in place of a setting sun and the faintest hint of purple in the clouds. It had been a long, tedious day for Rogue, making speeches, relaying rather personal experiences to people she didn't know. All she wanted -no, needed- was a break.

So, of course, the mansion gates came as some relief. As freedom got closer, became nearly tangible, the painful, caged feeling grew more intense. If she could just get away...away from Carol, and Lorna's naivety, and Betsy's lack of respect for a person thoughts.

The van halted and Rogue was the first one out. She motioned for every girl to pick up her bag and enter the lovely home of the x-men. After giving them the brief tour of the living room and kitchen, she said that Beast could answer any important, urgent questions and that she'd see them in an hour or so to settle them in further. She had some things to take care of.

Like staying sane.

* * *

**_1/2 Hour later..._**

The human soldier was hunkered down near the cold floor, listening, waiting. His foe stood on the other side of that brick wall. He was young, the soldier boy, twenty-two or so, a new fighter, but a good one. No one in his division was better with the machinery or could rival his aim with the gun. A heavy, loose helmet bounced on his head when he moved, so he didn't move often.

Just waited. The gun, a high-powered Mark IV fast-burner, newest thing off of the tables, weighed down his arms and right shoulder, though the limbs didn't show the strain. The second that person managed to tear down the wall, he'd be there, finishing the job for all his fallen comrades.

Then, suddenly, the bricks wobbled. Dust began flying ever where, so he slammed down the plastic face guard. His hands were steady; _steady_...a whole chunk of the wall fell forward, landing a foot away. The soldier maintained his position. He'd been taught well.

Steady. Midnight blue eyes narrowed, breath came in a consistent pattern. Calm. Be wary, act fast, that was the unofficial motto in dealing with such unstoppable, dangerous foes as these mutants. Be ready...for anything.

The rest of the wall came down, like a river tumbling free of its damn. For a second, he was blinded. And then, she was there. Young. Female. Weaponless. Surely, this girl couldn't be the foe. Where was the real enemy? Was she bait? A human shield? She was not the hard-core villain he'd been trained against. As she approached him, the soldier boy's concentration faltered.

Her pretty face was clenched in a tight expression, her mouth a thin, grim line of burgundy. Dark lashes provided her eyes only protection. She wasn't wear any gear! They always said, youth would be his downfall, too easily conned by an attractive face. But what if she needed his aid? She looked so frail!

He allowed her to near him, went so far as to accept her pale, extended hand in his own. The smoothness of her skin surprised him, and then his sight blurred, the world tilted on its back, and darkness overcame him.

The soldier boy collapsed to the floor, holding his gun like a teddy bear.

* * *

Rogue blinked, processing the visuals in her mind. The soldier, his girlfriend from home, a tiny thing with raven hair. A party, for his first birthday, a circle of kids surrounded a two layer strawberry cake. Fluorescent lights for the school dance he was organizing. Training in the army, a sergeant yelling obscenities in his ear. Confidence. Curiosity. Shock.

She swayed for a second, gulping down the memories of her latest touch. It was a new feature in the Danger Room, programmed just for her, thoughts and emotions of all the artificial people. Professor Xavier had hoped it would allow Rogue to get used to absorbing others minds, and increase her recovery time. In battle, every second counted.

"Level Six Complete. Proceeding to Level Seven." She looked around, as though searching for the voice's origin, though she knew it was based in invisible speakers.

Her stance altered itself. There would be no sympathetic humans in this stage. No humans at all, for that matter. Darkness bathed her, like the blackest night, and then the Danger Room reawakened and was alight with firing guns and all sorts of dangers. Jumping to the center platform of the scenario, Rogue let her body take the lead in fighting off the simulated attacks.

Stop. Step. Lean. Stretch. Jump. Rogue knew the program, this level, and what it required of her by heart; it was her favorite exercise, an easy way to release the day's tensions. In old, worn jeans and a tank top, she dodged the flying discs and catapulted over the fences. Her hair whipped against her face, sweat left a thin coating, as she continued in the self-defense course.

The problem with her powers, Rogue thought, was that they only worked if she could touch the enemy, like the soldier boy. If the villain was more than an arm's length away, she was out of luck. Too bad, so sad, that's life. Thusly, to be a valuable member of the X-men, she would have to be able to fight, without powers. It wasn't impossible to do serious damage with bare hands; Mystique had proven that.

But achieving the shape-shifter's skill would take work, and that was another reason why she spent free time in the program. A spinning robot, with revolving guns for arms, came after her and she carefully planned her attack on it, grasping a rope on the ceiling and hauling herself up to its head, where the guns were both most lethal and most vulnerable. She reached her hand inside and began tearing wires from their base. The machine sagged forward and Rogue slid off, satisfied.

Jump. Dodge. Slide. Stop. Wait.

"So this is the Danger Room? I hope that this program isn't the best you've got." She'd been so focused on the level that she hadn't heard the intrusion. Now that the trespasser had spoken, however, Rogue spun around, angry at the distraction.

Carol, again, contempt scribbled on her face. At first, Rogue wondered if she could attack the girl and feign confusion, claiming she'd believed Danvers was a part of the simulation. But that darn responsibility of being the first X-men, save the adult McCoy, that the newbies met weighed down on her shoulders. Another robot came out of nowhere, aiming for the blonde.

"Watch out," Rogue warned, "Ah took the safeties off." Anything else would leave room for weakness.

The blonde wasn't phased. Ignoring the red beam that shot out to her face, she continued to observe the setting casually. "That Dr. McCoy guy said you were in here...he said you'd know where our rooms were..."

"Ah do. That beam always comes before the laser, so Ah'd suggest ya duck o' somethin'."

Carol rolled her eyes. "Can you give us directions? We'd like to get set up."

"Ah told y'all that Ah'd pass out keys afta' Ah was done here."

"And we're what? Just supposed to wait around for you to finish playing some oversized video game?"  
The robot hummed, switching to its high-powered weapon. Rogue opened her mouth to pause the simulation, but found herself too late.

It blast forward, crashing straight into Carol. Rogue winced, praying it hadn't hurt her too bad.  
Her hand hovered over the x-communicator, ready to call Beast to the room. However, neither the fear, nor the action, was necessary, because the blonde mutant held her ground against the attack.

Deflecting it with her hand, she lifted herself off the ground and dove for the machine, making a neat hole in its center, where frazzled wires continued to spark long after the robot itself was rendered useless.

Danvers landed several spaces away, running her hands through her hair. _Oh right_, Rogue thought, _invulnerability_. "So when will you be finished with this game? Anytime soon, or would we be better off wandering around until we came upon some uninhabited quarters?"

Rogue glared. "Ah'll be down when Ah'm finished. Y'all can wander if ya'd like, but Ah can't guarantee ya won't accidentally stumble into somethin' ya shouldn't be messin with. Ah hear Jamie's cultivatin' microscopic worms in his room for a science project."

"Great," Carol muttered, giving up and heading for the doors. "I'm in a house with freaks _and_ geeks. Does this get any better?" She pushed a wall over, just before vanishing, and all the walls beside it fell like dominos, crushing robots that had been advancing, during Rogue's distraction.

She heard the electronic voice again. "Level seven complete. Proceeding to Level Eight."

_Great_, Rogue thought. _Just great_.

She had several moments of peace, or relative peace, considering the blasts and spinning swords and poison darts that demanded constant evasion. She listened to the instincts in her head, focusing on stretching her legs farther while she ran, on kicking harder, on adding sting to her punches and tuning out the screeching voice of protesting muscles.

But several moments was all she had, because the Danger Room doors were again opened. This time, it was Hank McCoy who came inside, artfully dodging the spike-adorned discs with an agile jump and spin. "End simulation." He said loudly. Abruptly, the images faded, only the cold, steely interior remaining.

Rogue collapsed to her knees, chest heaving, flushed from the exertion. "Yes Mr. McCoy?"

"You're needed. There's a robbery in progress at the Bayville City Bank. The Brotherhood is involved."

"Why would the Brotherhood wanna rob a bank?" Rogue mused aloud, staring at the computer screen in wonder. "It ain't like Magneto's destitute."

"Perhaps its the attention he seeks. Tensions are running high between mutants and non-mutants right now. A television filled with benevolent monsters would almost definitely lead to aggressions."

"So he's speedin' up the battle 'tween us an' them. Shovin' more on their plate than they can handle. That means we've got ta stop the idiots 'fore they make themselves known."

"Indeed."

* * *

The Bayville bank was a relic of a building, one of few original places left standing after the 1932 earthquake that tore up the rest of the city, and half of New York. It had become a symbol of strength, of resilience and hope for Bayville. Magneto couldn't have chosen a better spot to tear down, if indeed that was his aim.

But Rogue was going to stop it, even if her only teammates were a few girls that had merely touched the surface of their powers. At least, Beast would be advising them, via communicator, helping them track down the slippery bad guys from the van computer.

Betsy stretched her legs out, clad in some kind of rather revealing, clingy ninja-wear, having turned down the comfortable suits the x-men typically wore. Her eyes shut in apparent concentration, and she held herself with confidence. Carol, well, it would take a lot to damage Carol anyway; the worry with her was whether or not she would damage the building they needed to protect. Lorna...Lorna was the young one, the least able but most willing to try. She fidgeted in the outfit, and Rogue wondered if it was her body that felt closed in, or the boundless exuberance of her spirit.

They could so do this. So what if they were new. So what if they had been reading Vogue magazine and toying with the fringed carpet when Rogue stormed inside and informed them that they would be getting their first lesson, first hand.

"Rogue?"

So what if this was Rogue's first attempt at leading a team in general.

"Rogue? Are you listening?"

She turned halfway, catching Beast's eye. "We're here."

"Oh. Oh good. Uh, let's get the girls out."

"We are." Carol said from outside, rolling her eyes. "You're the one spacing out."

"Ah was workin' on a plan, Danvers." She jumped out, letting a gush of breath escape her partially opened lips. "Okay. So, Ah briefed y'all on the team. Remember ta stick togetha', an' don't muss up the bank itself. That's probably what they want."

* * *

The Brotherhood boys were playing football with a vase, leaving droplets of water on the gray tiles. It was everyone against Pietro, who zipped back and forth with ease, throwing, catching, and even rushing to the other side of the haphazardly marked field.

"Man, I can't believe Magneto has us here tonight. It was Sleepover Night on the Pamela Anderson show." Toad said, with a pout.

"I can't believe he made that stupid Cajun his errand boy again. I thought I was the one in charge." Pietro answered, himself a little frustrated at not being 'in the know' with his own father.

"Why don't you guys just, like shut up already. I'm getting sick of hearing you guys whine." Avalanche complained.

"Wine? Who's got wine? Gimme some of that."

"Shut up!"

"Why am I stuck here with you losers anyway?"

Blob, who'd remained relatively quiet, tapped Avalanche's shoulder. "Hey, is it just me, or is there a really hot ninja girl standing in the doorway."

Lance followed his gaze. "Woah. There is. Hey, you guys, who's that?"

Pietro raised an eyebrow. "I don't know."

"Maybe we should talk to her."

"Maybe she wants to join the Brotherhood."

"Hey, she's coming towards us. Let me handle this."

"No me!"

"Me!"

As things happened, it was Lance who first encountered the foreign-looking beauty. He grinned, foolishly unprepared for painful, rather embarrassed kick to the chest, which she delivered without a second thought.

"Um...I'm guessing, she's not here to join the Brotherhood." Toad said, backing up. Unfortunately, he backed right into another girl, equally as attractive, and as dangerous, with a backhand slap that send him flying to the nearest wall. "Ouch."

"They're X-men, you idiots! Look at the uniform!" Pietro cried. "Come on, we can handle this second string x-dork team."

Hanging back, Rogue found herself in mild amazement of their abilities. True to the words of a gushing millionaire, Betsy was a superb ninja. Carol hadn't ruined too much yet, and Lorna wasn't doing to bad. She almost wasn't even needed.

Almost.

The communicator on her wrist bleeped. A message from Beast. "Rogue, I'm picking up signs of another mutant, in room adjacent to your own."

"Can Ah leave the girls alone?"

"They appear to be handling themselves."

She shrugged. "Whateva' ya say, Mr. McCoy. Just tell meh where."

"Leave through the side door. Quietly, try to not disturb the girls. They may experience a lapse of confidence if they realize your departure. Follow the hall until you reach the next door, yes that's it. Open the door. He's in the corner, behind a large object."

Rogue narrowed her eyes as she came upon the entrance and glanced around inside. "Its a filin' cabinet."

"Be wary."

"Yes'ir."

"Now re...an...ook...ul..."

Rogue tapped her communicator. "Mr.McCoy?" The device grumbled again, a mess of static and partially spoken words. "Mr. McCoy?" She repeated.

"Don't think he can get good reception in here. T'ink da lead in de walls prevents it."

In the shadows, there was a movement, but difficult to detect. Rogue felt her pulse quicken. The figure emerged, at first reminding her of the old Dracula movies, a piercing expression, long black cape, a standing collar, only the white of glistening teeth catching the fragments of light. But then he parted with the shadowed wall, bowing for her, and all color returned to him, the rich auburn hair, sun-kissed golden skin, brown trench coat, and magenta hues in his clothing.

"'Allo, _Chere_."

As Rogue found herself, again, face to face with the specter from her mind, the stranger of her past, it was like two worlds coming together, the haunting auras and unmistakable, real flesh merging to a single picture that gave her pause. Why hadn't this happened before, during the fight? Then, it had seemed easy to separate the past and present, to shuffle him off to the dustier parts of her mind, locking the strange, emotional phenomena he caused away. She had allowed herself a brief hope, nothing more. But now? Now she wanted answers, too.

"Gambit."

The Cajun nodded, barely. "Rogue. I hear everyone call you dat these days. Don't tell me y' still lookin' for dat place t' fit in."

"Naw, Ah think Ah've found my niche." Something clattered, behind them; outside the room, someone cried out. The newbies were in trouble. Or maybe not. They'd surprised her with their abilities. Especially Betsy. Her mind, however, didn't dwell on the team for long. She focused again on Gambit.

"Been a long time."

"Has it? Ah can't recall it all that well."

"Dat's a lie." She looked at him in surprise. He certainly thought highly of himself and his kiss.

"Ya think?"

"I know." Again, the sound of fighting. This time someone was thrown against the wall, an indentation marring the woodwork. Not good, for it would be difficult to hide. Gambit frowned. "Can we go somewhere else? I'd like t' talk wit' you," He said politely, as though they were in some social gathering and not on opposing sides of a bank robbery.

"No."

"Please?"

"What do ya want, Gambit?"

"Call me Remy, _Chere_."

"Why are ya robbin' the bank, _Gambit_." He sighed a sigh she knew well. The sigh of frustration, as though he were trying to break down a cement tower with a bouncy ball; it just kept coming back to hit him in the face. He sighed, the same sigh Kitty used when Rogue wouldn't join her preppy study group. The sigh, the same exasperated exhale that Professor Xavier used when he tried to seek out the twisted, confused, broken part of her mind that refused to control the powers and wound up returning to the physical realm empty-handed.

"Chere, it not be easy t' meet you like dis. We are in a unique position t' talk wit'out either o' our friends knowin'. I can't very well step up to you while Magneto's watchin' an' ask fo' yo' number, can I." It wasn't a question.

Rogue was bewitched, and knew it. She could feel his pull over her, the way she wanted to weaken under his gaze. But she stiffened, narrowed her eyes, and overcompensated for the lax response in her mind and heart with the by turning her body rigid.

The X-men needed her to be strong. "Don't call me _Chere, Cher_. An' get the hell outta mah way."

Gambit blocked her path, tilted his head until he was sure she was watching him intently, closely, ready for his next move. He grinned, wider than before, and the ring of fire flashed within his eyes, a perfect sphere. Amazing. Captivating. Enthralling. Rogue stopped trying to get away, though she wasn't sure why.

"I'm sayin' please again, _Chere_. Please come wit' me, an' please o' please, call me Remy. I've waited t'ree years to hear it slide off yo' mouth. The Southerner in me loves the way y' accent it."

_Gambit_, she thought_. Don't call him anything but Gambit. It'll just open the floodgates and you won't be able to slam them shut. _

"Remy." She said, anyway.

As though that single uttering were an invitation, he seized her hand. "I knew, _Chere_, dat you'd remember. Tol' m'self, Remy LeBeau, findin' dis girl has t' be a sign o' fate."

"What do ya want from me?" Her voice wanted to grow gruff and harsh, demanding information as Logan would, or jagged, sharp, stinging like Mystique's viper tongue. But somehow, she couldn't let it. Instead, it became lighter and weaker, like a cookie crumbling in his grasp.

He dipped his head and kissed her glove-clad palm. "T' see you, Rogue. I wanted t' say somet'in' last time but-"

Disbelief aided her resistance to his charm, somewhat, for half a millisecond. "But you were too busy tryin' ta kill me and mine?"

There was a vague shrug in his sigh. He released her limp limb. "First impressions important, non? Y' already know me, but de rest o' de X-men needed t' know dat I'm serious. Can' have respect in m' own team when de enemy's laughin' in my face." The ring of fire flashed in his eyes, entrancingly. "Tell me y' understand, _Chere_. Won't y' please?"

_No, no, no_, shouted someone inside of her. _He has to give a better explanation that that; he's being evasive, avoiding the point_. He had tried to hurt her then -but now she was supposed to believe that he just wanted a conversation? No! But her mouth moved all by itself, whispering a low, "Yes. Ah understand."

"Knew you would. Y' wanna come closer, _non_? After all, we be old acquaintances." Burning eyes, beautiful, lured her like a moth to flames. She nodded, her head taking the lead, her legs following immediately after with several steps.

"Not like we've neva' met." She said, looking up at him, feeling the thumping in her chest, and only distantly recognizing it as her own heart. Things were getting so hazy, like a mist had begun forming around them two. Rogue couldn't break the steady gaze he shared with her.

The walls of fire reached out, encircling her, engulfing her, blocking every path, will, and thought beyond that which he suggested. In her entire body, pouring into her capillaries instead of blood and air, diffusing though the cells, flying through nerves, there was only the need for Remy.

To remember him, to feel him, to hold him again, to touch him. To lose herself in him. To surrender.

"Y' don't need dat communicator. You'll be safe wit' me." He unlocked it from her wrist and left it on a desk. Then Gambit took hold of her shoulders, testing the tension in them and easing away the worst. "Come on, _Chere_. Let's go talk. Somewhere else," he added, casting a glance at the doors that Rogue had entered through.

"Anythin' ya say, Remy."

"Dat's a good girl." His hands traveled down, slowly, landing at her waist as he led her to a window. "Just climb out an' I'll go right after." Physical contact broke, and Rogue pulled herself up, bending her figure through the narrow space available. Her legs went first, but just before she could finish the movement, the ground rumbled with Avalanche's signature attack. She ended up falling out, much less gracefully than intended, her head connecting brutally with the wall.

She cursed aloud, shaking her head, then frowned. The misty haze vanished; the world was clear before her, free of dream-like movements. Above her head, she heard Remy, saw the Cajun draw himself out quickly, landing neatly beside her. He muttered something in French, a stinging remark about Lance's intelligence, while brushing the bottom of his trench coat.

His eyes. She remembered the way he'd looked at her, the flash of fire. The subsequent loss of control.  
"You okay? C'mon _Chere_, dis way..." He let the words trail off; because he noticed the defiant, mad glare she gave him.

His eyes.

Burning red.

Red.

"_Chere_?"

"Ya jerk," she said, realizing that he had caused her dreamy state. He'd been manipulating her. Those eyes of eyes, red and fiery, hypnotizing her. "The file said nothin' 'bout telepathy."

"Not a telepath," he answered easily. "Just a trick o' the trade."

The gloves, quite literally, came off. Rogue dropped them to her side, thinking of how quickly he'd fooled her. Why her? Had he sold himself to Magneto, using their past, promising to deliver the head of an x-men in exchange for...for what? Money? Shelter? To pay a debt, perhaps. All it would take to find the answer was one touch.

Whatever his motivation or pay, she would have none of it. She wouldn't be his pawn, his mouse on a string. Anger flashed in her emerald eyes. "Ya crossed paths with the wrong x-girl, Gambit. The others, they're all eitha' too nice o' too weak ta seriously hurt ya. But me, Ah'm like a black widow. Ah can drain the life from ya in a minute and Ah won't hesitate ta do it."

"Remy didn't come here t' fight wit' you."

"No, ya came here ta lead me on, _non_? Ta take advantage o' our brief history together, an' play those jedi mind tricks on me. What if information were ya lookin' for? The codes ta the security system? The latest technology? Our Achilles heel?" She advanced on him, palm up, ready to snatch his head between them and take what she needed. She wouldn't really kill him, that was a given, but maybe put him to sleep for an hour or two.

"Rogue, I..." Her skin, the color of moonlight, came ever closer as she extended her arm, placing a hand on either side of him. "I didn't plan on hurtin' you. "

"Says you. Unfortunately, you're not someone Ah can trust. We'll have ta do this the hard way, won't we." She moved to touch his face, but he dodged it.

"_Chere_....I'm sorry I charmed you. We all got our weaknesses, _non_? I saw yo' reluctance, remembered m' talents, an' figured it was de fastest, easiest way t' get t'ings done. 'Course, it turned out t' be a horrible mistake. Should let y' decide on your own."

"Yeah, ya should've." Rogue rushed him, tried to contact some part of his flesh. But he was still faster. Damn it. Caught her wrists and spread them apart, like he was going to lead her in a dance again. Dipping her back, pleaded with his eyes. Pleaded, but didn't force forgiveness into her heart.

"Gimme a chance. Y' want answers? Ask da questions."

"Why are ya robbing bank? Is Magneto tryin' ta perpetuate the tensions between us an' normal folks?"

"Non, we not really here t' rob anyt'in'. Magneto don't even know 'bout. I mean, I'm sure he knows _now, _but he didn't arrange dis. I did. I set it up, so I could see you again."

"Ya did this? For me?"

"_Oui_."

"Y'all expect me ta believe that? Its right up there with flowers an' candy, right? Bought ya a dozen roses, took ya ta see a movie, arranged a bank heist. Yeah, that makes sense."

"Would y' rather see a movie?"

"No, Ah think Ah'd ratha' drain the information outta ya."

He shook his head, sadly. "Sorry, _Chere_, never let a girl steal m' powers and memories 'til at least the t'ird date. But Roguey, c'mon. I not be such a bad guy. An' you know dis interest in you, it happened a long time 'fore Magneto o' de X-men came along."

"Ah-" She was interrupted by a shout, a long, desperate, "Gambit!" that reached out to them from inside the building.

"Gambit, dude, are you still here? Maybe he bailed. Would you blame him? Gambit! Gambit, uh, we're kinda in a spot here..."

The Cajun groaned. "Y' t'ink de be able t' hold off a set o' new recruits fo' longer dan five minutes, non? Look, I gotta go, _Chere_. But think about it, please? I don't know how t'ings have been fo' you, but I've never forgotten our meetin'. I t'ink I felt somet'in' dat day, I dunno if it was real sparks, o' relief dat I finally had a reason t' get rid o' Bella, o' mebbe m' powers were actin' up. But I would love a chance t' find out." He smiled at her and bowed politely. "Make y' decision an' tell me when we meet again. I promise, next time I arrange somet'in' like dis, it not involve city monuments o' de kids. It be a quiet tête-á-tête. I hope y' plan on comin'."

He handed her something and then ran to find his own group. Rogue stared at the object. The Queen of Hearts. Her fingers brushed against it, hesitantly, and then it her fist closed, bending, twisting the majestic woman that decorated the thin plastic finish. How easily the Mona Lisa smile was marred, the beauty and magic of her delicate features destroyed.

He'd sounded almost...sincere, in that last moment. But she wasn't falling into to that trap. Another trick of the trade, probably.

In fact, she could practically forget everything he'd said and resume her oath to not think or feel for him until they were no longer on conflicting sides. It wouldn't be that hard. He was just a guy.

If...

_If what, Rogue? _

If it wasn't for those eyes. Even when they weren't hypnotizing her, they were powerful, speaking like no words could. Conveying his thoughts better than any French-English language would allow. And it was they that pushed her into considering that he might have meant it.

A veil of white hair that landed in front of her face, half obstructing the view of the queen. Again she thought, how easily she could ignore everything he'd just told her. Pretend that nothing had happened. She'd gone head to head with the Cajun, she would tell them, but he got away. That much was truth. But what of his offer?

How much of that was truth?

Could she bear to admit that the same thoughts were circulating in her mind, the same hope teasing her. All along, she told herself the logical things, keeping her feet on the floor. This was no fairy tale; it was real life. Love at first sight didn't exist. The Cajun had made for a fascinating dream lover, a wonderful goal, always out of reach, never a possibility. But really? It was silly to think a few moments had touched him as well. Of course he didn't feel the same way. It hadn't been_ his_ only kiss.

But what if something different, unique, special, had, indeed, passed between them. What if this was their chance. What if...was it worth the risk? He'd been so adamant about his interest in striking up a friendship.

Headlights descended on her, a honking horn invading her thoughts. Lorna half-climbed from the van, the brilliant glow of victory pasted on her face. She waved to Rogue, happily. "We did it! Somebody called them off! They gave up! Can you believe it? We're so totally on our way to becoming real X-men."

Rogue smiled back, stuffing the strangled card into her boot, promising to work it all out later. "Congratulations."

* * *

A dark, masked man hovered ominously outside the Acolyte home, his arms tight across his chest. As Gambit neared him, the man raised his chin, tilted his head, and touched the floor with his metal boots. "Home at last, Mr. LeBeau? I was beginning to think we'd have to send a search party after you."

Remy smiled, charmingly. "I t'ought y' picked us 'cause we be old enough t' care f' ourselves. But, if you'd like, I check in 'fore an' after I leave dis house."

"Don't toy with me, boy." Magneto leaned closer, intimidating. "I'm not here to play games."

"Damn it, and I t'ought it was Pictionary night." Remy's insolence earned him a slap across the face, extremely painful because of the metal lining of the glove.

"Unfortunately, it is late and I have a meeting soon. But I will see you tomorrow, Mr. LeBeau. You will receive your punishment then, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suggest you make the most of your comfortable conditions tonight. It is uncertain how many will be left to you after our chat. Good night."

* * *

"Look who's back. The boy who would be dead." John called, as though he were announcing Remy before a royal court. "So, Mate, did Magneto hand it to you? Is he putting me in charge instead?"

Piotr snorted. "Like that's going to happen." He turned his attention to Gambit. "Magneto came asking questions. He told us what you did. What were you thinking?"

"I know what. It was that Sheila, right? With skin so fair, dusted with moonbeams, the light in her hair, the music of two hearts following the same drum. She looked at you, her heart racing, eager to indulge herself in exquisite temptation. Take me, take me now!" John cried, mockingly, until Piotr, who was anything but laughing, knocked him from the couch.

"I thought you were through with that girl."

Remy pushed his way past them, landing on the couch. He took up the remote and clicked the television on. "I am. I dunno what de matchstick is talkin' 'bout. Someone must've set me up."

"Not likely. Pietro said you lured her away from the gang. The two o' you spent time alone. You know, he's got a mad crush on the girl, watches her like a hawk. Did you think he wouldn't see that?"

Idiot Pietro. Someone needed to shove a shovel down that boy's throat and shut him up. Lusting after Rogue, was he? It would almost be worth it to make him tell her, just to watch the rejection. Then again, he'd better focus on turning his own luck with the _belle _around. As for the boys, Remy didn't them breathing down his neck, accusing whenever he stepped out. "All right, _mes amis_, I'll share m' secret plans wit' you. If it means," he added, "dat y' leave me alone and not muck things up."

"No mucking here."

"Fine." He sighed. "I've decided t' help Magneto along. I'm gonna tear that team apart from the inside out, startin' with Rogue. First I worm m' way into her heart, den, when she trusts me, I make m' move. T'row a lil' suspicion in their home, give 'em a reason t' doubt her allegiance. They split into sides, an' de whole team caves in. Dat's what I'm doin', okay? So stay out o' it."

"So you're just using her? That's all?"

"Dat's all" _All you need to know._

* * *

_ Rogue Darkholme_

_ English 5-6_

_ Analysis of Shakespeare's Hamlet_

"_To be or not to be, that is question." One of the most famous of Shakespeare's monologues belongs to the young prince, Hamlet, who must decide for himself whether living is a worthy endeavor. Faced with the untimely death of his father, the sudden marriage between his newly widowed mother and his uncle, and the appearance of his father's ghost -who may, or may not, be a trick of Hamlet's own mind-, perhaps the better question would be to trust or not to trust. Does he put his faith in his mother and uncle? Does he rely on the visions in his head?_

_And as I write this obviously awful, horrible analysis that will have to be revised at least ten times before school starts and the paper is actually due, I consider Remy LeBeau and ask myself the same question._

_To trust, or not to trust._

* * *

A knock at the door clashed with the drummer of her favorite band, so Rogue slid the headphones off, shoved the pillow over her open notebook, and sat up on her bed, intent on ending the intrusion. It was nearly morning; couldn't the girls leave her alone for a while? "Who is it?"

"Carol."

Damn it. Rogue made sure the pages were no longer showing. "Come in."

The door creaked open and Carol entered. She was dressed in a long blue nightgown, her blonde hair locked back in thick braids. Socks protected her feet, while she tread over the tan carpet and set herself down on Kitty's desk chair, playing with her thumbs nervously. "I just...wanted to say...um.... well..."

"Yeah?"

"Sorry?"

That was unexpected. "Sorry?"

"Well, I mean, I know I've been acting pretty...well...pretty...you know..."

"Ah know." An apology? From the high maintenance Barbie? Would the world be sucked into a black hole in the next few minutes? Would little pigs fly by?

Carol nodded. "I didn't mean to meet you and act like this. It's just...do you know it feels to find out you're a mutant? Suddenly, the whole world wants to shun you. Makes you want to shun them first."

_Take the olive branch, Rogue. Do the right thing_. "Ah guess Ah can understand that. But take it firsthand from me, wallowin' in misery an' angst ain't going ta fix things."

"Its so hard not to. Being a mutant sucks."

"Only if ya let it."

"How do you control it? How do you cope when it interferes with everyday life? You want to know when my powers came to life?"

"Manifested," Rogue corrected, surprised to hear herself talk like the professor or Jean, advocating things after all.

"I was playing basketball. I tried to pass the ball to my friend and ended up knocking her through the gym wall. She was in the hospital for two weeks recovering. What if the next time I hand someone a book, I offer it too hard, and they end up coughing up pages."

If there was anything Rogue knew well, it was this topic. While she was learning to handle the destructive power of her touch, it still drove her crazy, the fear, the inability, the hunger, the combined helplessness and strength. "Listen Carol, instead o' complainin' an' worryin', think o' the good. Hey, if your eva' in a car crash, ya can pretty damn sure ya won't be seriously injured. An' Ah've seen a lotta mutants, just startin' off, they learn so fast an' easy. Give it another week, an' most o' this trouble will be gone. Ya friend will be betta', powers under control, an' life sweet."

The blonde smiled, hopefully. "Think so?"

"Ah know so."

"I guess. It really is easier to talk to another mutant, isn't it? My mom...well, she tried but..."

"What did she say?"

Carol laughed. "That I should think of being a mutant like being naked. Sure, people treat you different for a while, and you feel embarrassed and ashamed. But pretty soon, it doesn't matter so much. You start to like being naked. She said I should think of this place like a nudist colony, where we could all walk around naked together."

Despite herself, Rogue laughed too. "Ah think Ah speak for all o' us when Ah say thank the dear Lord people 'round here wear clothin'."

"Mmm. Except that Acul...Acolyte boy. The one with the cool eyes and the great body. I wouldn't mind seeing him..."

Rogue bit her own hand, thinking of him. The card. The offer. "He is a cute one, ain't he? But stay clear o' him, the real nice ones are always the most dangerous." Was that true, or did she just not like the idea of Carol fawning over him?

"Darn it. So...are these X-men guys hot? What about the one in the big picture downstairs, with the red glasses and the brown hair? He wasn't so bad."

"Sorry, Scooter's taken."

"By you?" Carol teased. Then she sighed, "No, I'll bet it's that redhead standing next to him in the picture, huh. You could totally see the forlorn lover look he was giving her."

"Her name's Jean. You'll meet 'em soon."

"That'll be nice." Carol got up to go. "Well, it's late. I better go sleep for a while. I'm so not a morning person. Good night, Rogue."

"Night."

"Oh yeah, and thanks for the second chance. I thought you'd hate me completely by now."

After hearing the click of the door, Rogue flipped her pillow over and turned the open page of her journal. There, laying between her poor attempt at Shakespeare analysis and her journal entry for the day, was the card, now unfolded, smoothed down, the Queen of Hearts sharing that mysterious smile again. She touched it, briefly, sighing to herself.

She always was one for second chances, wasn't she?

* * *

_So here we go, the stage is set for the rest of the fic. Please, bear with me if there an incredible awkwardness in this chapter. I can watch the rest of the fic in my mind, ya know, like a movie, but someone messed with the reel and damaged this part of it. I tried to smoothen it a bit, but I dunno...hope it wasn't too bad._

_I'm trying to make this different that my other fics. I added some things. Like Carol. At first, she was going to be a total...something...but I changed my mind. I've got a better idea for her. The rest of the team will make their appearance soon, though. Feel free to offer critiques. Like I said, this was kinda....an iffy chapter for me._

_I would really really really really really like to know what you thought. Any suggestions? Comments? Advice?_

_Please, review! I live on reviews. (well, reviews and chocolate). And music. And writing. But I need reviews too! REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!_

_Hey, did anyone else see the lunar eclipse? So pretty. :)_

_REVIEW!_

**Individual responses:**

**Rauko: **Hey, thanks! Good story, BTW.

**Emerald: **Can't wait to see if you'll review again! Please? PLEASE? Thanks.

**Geminidragon: **Will they ever be able to touch again!!! That is a fascinating question, isn't it. Ya know, I haven't decided. Maybe. Maybe not. Its all sort of up in the air right now, so you need to review a lot to sway my choice in the direction you'd like it to go.

**Vagabond: **Hey, long time, no see. I guess I did kinda leave you in inter-chapter-limbo for a while, but that was only because my muses left me stranded in the middle of a new mexican desert with no money and no phone. And, worst of all, no writing utensils. They can be cruel sometimes, can't they. Good to read your review, hope you'll come again!

**Flyby Stardancer: **You guys, my wonderful reviewers, are the real awesome ones. Thank you!

**Goddess Evie: **Well, I had midterms, so my break wasn't all fun and games, but...thats life, non? Its good to see that people enjoy this story and I'm not just typing randomly into a computer in the middle of the night for nothing. :) Bye now!

**Snow Queen: **Thank you! Hope you liked this chapter as well. Hope you review!

**Todd Fan: **Thank you! Isn't Remy so purty. And cute. And charming. And wonderful and...sigh thanks for the review!

**The Flying Pen: **Thank you! Glad you like the story!

**Trunks Girl: **Oh fine. You have too. But you ought to. Please? puts on best puppydog face  
Glad you liked it! Keep reviewing!! Or ELSE!

**Ryoko Subaru: **Love the mad, maniacle laugh. I've some of those too. Hope you liked this chapter!

**Pookie Sanchez: **I'm all grins too, reading your reviews. Thank you, kindly.

**Lucky439: **What can you do to keep me writing? Um...REVIEW AGAIN! Thanks :)

**Bunny Angel: **Thank you!

**Panther Nesmith: **Ah yes, continuing what must be the longest hot chocolate-based discussion, I must say, the view from here is absolutely lovely. As for the midterms, they actually went well. Of course, its now two weeks until finals, but I do hate to dwell on the distant future. You understand, I'm sure.

I must say, your butler seems quite efficient. And, forgive the cliche, its so hard to find good help these days.

You must forgive the poor french. Frankly, looking back on how frazzled I felt, I think its a miracle I managed to write the English parts with a minimum of errors. But I'm trying to not make the same mistakes. Thank you.

Good day.

**Rogue Star:** The update, unfortunately, wasn't too soon, but they did meet again. And the stage is being set for another meeting. Hope you'll come back and read that!

**Rogue Elf: **Thank you! I'm glad you liked it so much. You know, its you reviewers that keep me writing. Well...you and Rogue and Remy, but you know what I mean. Thanks again!

**Ishandahalf: **You know, ever time I create a character that might interfere, even for a moment, with Remy and Rogue, I receive threats from you. Gosh. But I refuse to live in fear. That's right. Maybe next chapter, there'll be a whole harem in their way. Ha ha ha...oh wait, but then I won't like it either....hmmm....interesting. That does present a problem...oh well. (Darn me and Romy addiction!) Thanks for the review!

**Remy'sLilSis: **Thanks! You are so sweet!

**Lulu: **Well, they've met again. As far as the whole touching thing, well, that waits to be seen. Thanks for the review!

**Gaea: **Why thank you, ever so much. Glad ya like it! :) Did you like this one too?

**Me: **Cake? I like cake. Can it have virtual chocolate covered strawberries on top? Please? Thanks for the review!

**Nica: **I'm glad you decided to come and read. It was going to be a one chap. thing, but I caved in. I'm such a sucker for reviewers. Thanks :)

Questions, comments, and coconuts can be sent to me via email at  
Oh, and TFC will be updated real soon. Read it ifyou haven't! (shameless plug)


	4. Four

**New Author's Notes:** Nothing big here. Read on.

_I live!!!!! _

_Yes, I know its been like a reeeaally long time. Do you guys even remember reading this story? Well, I hope you do, and I hope you read again and forgive me my terrible, terrible laziness. I'll explain the absence but... later. Yeah. Look for an update of The Freedom Caper soon too. AND CHECK OUT MY OTHER NEW SHORTIE FIC, INTHEMOVIESECTION. _

_Thank you all!!!! Love Ya!_

**_Review!_**

**We've Met Before**  
**Chapter 4**

In the misty morning light, the air was moist with dew, and fog swirled around a lonely parked car, like a mink coat circled gracefully on a lady's neck. The rest of the street was bare, or at least hidden by the fog. Silver, shiny, and new, the vehicle stood proudly, almost haughtily, a sleek paragon of modern day transportation.

The handsome young man sitting on the hood either didn't hurt its appearance any. He exuded the stylish cool that had been the claim of British secret agents before him, though certainly, Bond's eyes never glowed with the same crimson passion. Black pants, black shirt, and a zipper-less leather jacket with a turned-up collar all covered his lean, lanky form. Not his usual attire, but he'd made the wise decision to forsake anything with metal, including his beloved brown trench coat.

The young man, Remy LeBeau, was meeting the Master of Magnetism that morning. The note had been so kindly posted on his desk before he woke, delivered by one of the other Acolyte boys. It was time for his punishment.

LeBeau fiddled with an air banjo as he waited, humming softly along with the jazzy tune in his head -a song from the Bayou, his once-upon-a-time home. That hazy, beautiful, comforting memory waltzed through his mind like Fred Astaire in a ballroom. He was relaxed. Not worried at all. Anything else would be foolish.

So he shouldn't have borrowed the Brotherhood and used them for his own private games and amusement. No one was hurt beyond a few kicks to the head, the police hadn't the faintest idea of what had conspired, and life went on. Magneto was the only one who didn't quite agree -that was the problem with these obsessed evil mutant overlords; they took everything far too seriously.

And for some reason, the more serious they got, the more rebellious Remy LeBeau felt.

A smile played upon his full lips. He was in trouble now, but couldn't have felt more confident. Magneto had an icy anger, more dangerous that a fiery one, but also more calculating, considerate of the facts. The Cajun was still an asset; he'd want to keep him around. So then, what's the worst he could do?

Demote him to the Brotherhood?

"Mr. LeBeau, I'd advise you to remove yourself from my car."

Remy opened his red eyes, and raised an eyebrow. There was Magneto, steely as ever, back to claim his vehicle and the Cajun's privileges. "Y' leave it waitin' in da middle o' de street all night, exposed t' da cats an' thugs an' vandals, but complain when dis respectful Cajun boy uses it t' sit?" Remy exaggerated a sigh and slid off, brushing his pants off. "I'll never understand da way some people t'ink."

"That is why I wear this helmet." Magneto answered. "To keep my thoughts my own. Have a seat, Mr. LeBeau." The metal poles of a street sign uprooted themselves, floated over, then twisted and folded into each other, creating a chair for the Acolyte. Remy sat. "I've been reviewing the information you're little _gambit_ supplied us with, and I must say, its quite intriguing. Particularly this information on the ninja recruit. She was good, you say?"

"From what I saw...," Which wasn't a whole lot, Remy thought, considering his attention had been fixed on Rogue, "_Oui_."

"Do you know what the problem with working with adolescent boys is, Gambit? Attractive members of the opposite sex quite easily distract them. This girl worries me." It took Gambit a moment to realize he was talking about the Brotherhood and the ninja, rather than him and Rogue, " We already have our hands full with just the X-men, allowing them an able, skilled telepathic young female is not a good idea. I need someone who can handle her and not be distracted."

"Well, I-"

"Not you, Mr. LeBeau. You've proven yourself quite unreliable. After reviewing both your crime and this report, I've decided to recruit a new member to my team as well. The deal is being finalized...which brings us to your punishment."

Here it comes, Remy thought, mentally rolling his eyes. The swift hand of authority crashing against his desensitized bottom. The proverbial ruler across the hands.

"I've decided not to punish you. At least not in conventional ways. No, instead I'm putting you in charge of watching our newest recruit, playing guide, teacher, etc. And don't bother getting cocky about this, as though you've escaped my wrath. I've a hunch this is going to be quite the experience for you." A smile cracked the older man's lips and Remy felt an icy chill run past him. "You'll report to the Bayville bus station in two weeks at four o' clock exactly. That will be all. Good day."

The metal holding Remy up abruptly caved, sending the boy into the gravel. He winced and brushed the tiny bits of concrete from his palms, glaring as Magneto got into his car and sped away. That had been easy. Too easy, perhaps? Magneto was set on his punishment, thinking it ingenious, no doubt.

Another new face to add to the crowd. A tag-along. Was that the plan, add some skippy kid to keep a constant eye on him and make sure he didn't sway?

Or was there some other catch?

* * *

**2 days later...**

Balance was key. That was a truth Rogue had learned during her time with the X-men. When she was first shuffled off to share a room with one Kitty Pryde, it had seemed like a horrible mistake. She could still hear her own skeptical voice filling the dark corners of the hallway: _why not just throw raw oxygen an' fire inta the same space. It'll all lead ta the same conclusion._ But, surprisingly, the rooming had worked.

Not right off the bat, of course. Not like some after school TV program where they all decided to bake cookies after unpacking and swap clothes -God, not that at all. But little by little, the two girls had adjusted, two vines starting off on different sides of a wall and creeping towards one another, until their daily lives were well entwined. If it wasn't for Kitty, she might never get to school on time. If it weren't for her, Kitty wouldn't have had the courage to stand up against the anti-mutant classmates who threatened her locker space.

It was all about compromise. Give and take. Just like with the newbies. As of yet, Logan and most of the main team hadn't returned from their survival skills lesson/punishments in Canada, and Mr. McCoy's work was rather consuming at times, which meant Rogue was still -still!- in charge. She'd learned how to give, to bite back the sarcastic comments when ill placed, and how take, to be firm and unyielding as they ran through basic Danger room sessions.

Rogue was currently draped on her bed, legs dangling off the side limply, arms tossed out in either direction, head buried beneath a pillow, like some kind of suffocation victim. She was reveling in the silence of her situation, the void of busy chatter and ringing phones. And internally as well. It wasn't uncommon for a few random absorbees to throw in their two cents, to censure her, to complain. But apparently, they'd gone into hibernation.

Or maybe the newly arrived Mystique had scared them all away.

Compromise meant taking the good and the bad, she thought, uneasily. Accepting that Risty, her best friend, was gone for good and she no longer had an understanding confidante who could accurately interpret her expressions and guess at her moods. Hell, Risty hadn't even existed. The English girl had been a character, conceived by Mystique to infiltrate the X-base, steal information, trick the team; and, though the blue mutant had been adamant, insisting a want to get closer to her adoptive daughter, Rogue doubted. Mystique's talk was as shifty as her form.

On the brighter side, filling in the pieces of the past had been something of a breakthrough. Her cathartic rampage through the city had felt good, once the actual rampaging was done. She'd felt like sleeping beauty waking up the next morning. Having been given their day in the sun, the ghosts were content to sulk in the recesses of her mind again.

Her feet kicked up, shaking until the untied boots fell, hitting the ground with two clomping noises. Rogue was sore from her own early exercises, so she removed the pillow and pulled one leg to herself in a stretch. A sigh escaped her lips.

Everyone had to weigh the pros and cons of their life every now and then, just to check in, throw a few pebbles to whatever side needed strengthening. Like Kurt -he did it wonderfully. How many people, she thought with admiration, how many blue people could move to the other side of the world, away from a warm and loving family, and not let their smile falter? Add to that a villain mother, a newly discovered brooding 'sister' figure, several world-threatening events, and finals, and there was a definite recipe for sorrow, sadness...at least, more than a second's worth of gulping down the truth, digesting it, before grinning like a fool again. But he resisted. He smiled.

Of course, even Kurt and the Sun, so happily bound to each other, cast shadows. She suspected a slight, almost non-existent resentment towards her sometimes, the faintest flicker of a thought -if his mother had wanted a kid so much, why not the one she'd born? Why adopt after rejecting the one she'd conceived?

Her curtains were parted, her window open, allowing in the weather. The clutter of papers on her desk rustled with the wind, the white and pink skirt on Kitty's bed danced, and empty hangers rattled gently against each other. Rogue liked the breeze; if Kitty were around, she'd stick out her tongue, clamp down the window and advise Rogue to make use of the air conditioning system. But the AC didn't bring in fresh air, and that was half of the charm.

_Charm._

Just thinking about it, Rogue could feel her head go light. That Cajun and his charm, the way he'd drawn her in, offering candy and ponies and his little lost dog on the other end of the mental car. Reduced her to a mindless zombie. She'd heard of girls going goofy over a cute guy, but this had been ridiculous.

_Was he cute, Rogue? Like you remember? Like you'd imagined?_

_Hell, yeah, _she told herself. _But maybe cute ain't the right word. That boy's downright sexy._

_How do ya know that's yoah own idea and not his?_

_Because Ah didn't touch him._

_You did, once upon a time._

_Before Ah had mah powers._

_But he had his. He had his charm. How do ya know he didn't use 'em on you? Ya think ya felt a spark, but what if he was just manipulatin' you? You're basin' an awful lot on an event that may have been controlled. Is it really worth the risk?_

_He was being honest then. Ah could just...tell._

_Right. Like you could tell Risty was such a damn good friend._

Rogue sighed. Why was it her own voice was a lot nastier than the friends in her head? But it was all about balance. Compromise. Good and Bad. So she balanced the equation, remembering that Gambit was just as likely to be telling the truth as avoiding it, and that spending a morning alone with one's thoughts could only be countered by spending time with other people.

She wondered what the girls were doing.

* * *

"Did you ever hear of sweet Betsy from pike?" Lorna sang happily as her fingers pressed the mute button and erased the sound of commercial jingles. "She crossed the great river with her husband _ack_."

Carol looked up from the pages of her magazine in puzzlement. "Ack? Isn't it supposed to be her husband Ike?"

The green-haired youth clawed at her throat. "Ack! Ack!"

Carol would have said something, but footsteps down the stairs distracted her. She saw Rogue and grinned. The two were becoming friends, of all things. Still a far step away from being considered close, but on the right track. Maybe in a few months, weeks, whatever, something more stable, stronger, sturdier would bridge the two. Earlier, Hank had mentioned something about a 'healthy friendship' easing the pain of a recent discovery and subsequent meltdown for the Goth, but he'd been mostly muttering under his breath and she really didn't understand what he meant. "Hi."

She scooted over to one side of the couch and left the available space for Rogue, who plopped down and blew away the white bangs. "Hi yo'self. What's wrong with Lorna?"

"_Ack_!"

Betsy, who was lying on a chair upside down, all her purple hair pooling underneath her head, gave a laugh. "It seems she's under the impression that she can't speak. Or sing. Shame, isn't it?"

"Betsy..." Rogue said. "Quit that out. She's just a kid, an' if y'all can't handle one lil' girl, Ah'd hate ta see what's going ta happen when the troops come home. Ah can guarantee ya, if Bobby and Jubes and the rest o' 'em end up with a psionic knife in their brains, yoah gettin' dishonorably discharged from this gang."

_And probably a clap on the shoulder from the older kids and Logan_, Rogue thought, but didn't say aloud.

_You don't have to_, the ninja reminded her in a soft English tone. Almost like Risty.

_Stay outta mah thoughts, _Rogue warned, made uneasy by the intrusion.

_Or what are you gonna do, luv?_

Rogue was concentrating on sending her a mental image, accompanied by a remark, something about the purple of her hair matching brilliantly with the resultant bruises of strangulation -the kind of graphically violent teases that the adults so often chided her for, that Kitty shuttered at- when the Brit was distracted, and quickly shut off their connection. Betsy rolled over, releasing also the mind manipulation of Lorna.

"That reminds me, you've got to see this picture that arrived, just a minute ago."

"That is so not nice." Lorna whined softly. "You can't steal my voice like that."

"Didn't steal it; made you believe I stole it. There's a very distinct difference."

"Meanie."

"Come on." Betsy took Rogue's arm and started to lead her towards the kitchen. "It's a bit odd, I think."

Rogue gave a small smile to Carol. "Remind me ta show ya the new program Ah'm writin' later on. Y'all can help meh work out the kinds. Ah've gotta find a way ta outsmart that leader o' ours 'fore he gets back." And then she was drawn entirely into the kitchen.

The painting sat innocently on the kitchen table, nestled among the mountain of mail that had been building up since the mansion was nearly emptied of its usual occupants. A thin blue, semi-transparent veil protected the image itself, running along the edge of its antique golden frame. Curiously, Rogue stared at it, not touching the object but considering what it could be.

Betsy came up behind her, arms crossed. "So, any ideas of who sent it? What it is? Is it common practice for artwork to arrive here, just like that?" She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point.

"Sure it ain't a present from yoah rich boyfriend?" Rogue muttered, taking the corner of the veil and peeling it back. Her eyebrows shot up in recognition, but she held herself calm while Betsy kept on talking.

"Its wonderful artwork, but the whole idea isn't quite Warren's style."

"And what is?" Rogue asked, not really interested in the answer. The picture before her was strikingly familiar. A museum in New York, noted for its grand planetarium. Indeed, that was half of the scene depicted, a vast array of stars and planets spinning around one other. The other half displayed the cozy, reclining seats that allowed for visitors to lay back comfortably while star gazing.

But the real eye-catcher was the painting within a painting that lay on one seat. Rogue didn't need to squint to recognize that inner scene, it was a common place for anyone who traveled frequently in Mississipi. The back entrance to the Jacksonville Bus Depot, to be exact, where old buses were stored until the city managers decided to auction them off. Glass windows and doors met it halfway, leading into the main building, a lost and found sign nailed to the wall. Had the little painting extended but a few more steps, the real road, with its moving buses would have become visible.

She could practically hear the clink of a rich lady's purse into one of the slots.

"Personal helicopters and caviar, naturally."

Rogue looked up. "Huh?"

"You asked what's Warren's style. I said personal helicopters and caviar."

The goth nodded slowly. "Uh _huh_."

The Brit sighed. "Oh fine. So we drive in the car like normal people. Let's focus on the painting, shall we. Is it common practice to order newly painted artwork?"

"Anythin's common heah." Rogue answered. "We lost our mansion recently, before y'all arrived-"

"What do you mean 'lost'?"

"It was uh, blown up. Nothin' irreplaceable. Anyway, maybe the professor's tryin' ta restock the decorations." She fortified her mental walls and prayed that Betsy couldn't pick up her lie. It seemed to work, because the ninja shrugged and stepped back.

"Okay. Anywho, I was just asking because of the weird delivery man."

"Weird delivery man?" Rogue repeated, questioningly.

"Yeah. Appearance wise, he was normal, I suppose. Middle-aged, balding, kind of pudgy around the waist. White suit, name tag read Roger, that sort of thing. But when I accepted the package, he fumbled for a paper in his pocket and read a poem...thing. A rogue retreat, the farthest seat, something about one o' clock, the doors lock, I dunno the rest. I thought he said Rogue, anyway, that's why I asked you. But I could have been wrong. Could have said vogue." Betsy started walking away. "Bogue. Logue. Zogue..." And then she was gone.

Rogue sunk into one of the kitchen chairs, running her hand along the painting. There wasn't a doubt in her mind who'd sent it. He'd taken a hell of a chance in his method of choice. One o' clock, Betsy had said, though it was four now. One in the morning, she wondered?

Yes, that seemed right. She'd have to go out. Mr. McCoy never slept; he was perpetually hanging from things by his toes, mixing strange chemicals, and reciting literature. It was his charm, and also, her problem. It meant she'd have to inform him prior to leaving. Which, in turn, meant she'd have to lie, unless he would willingly accept her decision to visit with the enemy at night and keep it a secret between them.

She didn't want to lie.

Yet, she'd already decided to accept his offer, and backing out wasn't her style. It was just one night. Her hand slunk into her pocket to grasp the cell phone. Licking her lips, she turned it on and brought it to her lips. Glancing around to make sure the room was empty, she spoke into it.

"Mr. McCoy, please."

* * *

**Elsewhere...**

"I'll bet," Pietro said to the rest of the boys, as they sat, gathered around the table for a poker game, "That my dad really handed it to that Cajun. That'll teach him to use me."

"Yeah!" Toad agreed.

"Yeah!" Fred exclaimed.

Over a handful of cards, Lance shrugged. "I don't know Pietro. Are you really mad 'cause he used you? Or 'cause he was making eyes at Rogue?"

"Why should I care about that?"

"Uh..." Toad looked around, pretending to think. "'Cause you're eerily attached to the same girl who threatened to beat you with a hammer until your intestines, liver, and brain were mushed into a single organ?"

"Hey, look whose talking. When's the last time you went a day without hitting on my sister. Now that's crazy."

"I'll have you know Wanda and I are becoming very close."

"Yeah, you have to be close to someone to strangle them."

"Speaking of Wanda," Fred interrupted, "When's she comin' back, anyway? How long does it take to...uh...what'd she say again?"

"Purge our freakish, annoying, childish ways from her system?" Lance supplied, sneaking a glance at his large friend's hand.

"Yeah, that."

"I dunno. I think it was just an excuse to take a vacation."

"Oh."

"And get away from Toad."

"Hey!"

Moments later, a fight erupted over the table, and the game of poker became nothing more than a mess of cards and chips scattered on the floor.

* * *

**One o' Clock That Night...**

Two Rogue's existed as she stepped into the planetarium. _Go home_, one warned, _this is a mistake. He's playing ya like a harp, pluckin' exactly the right strings. And once you sing...what then, when he's pulled information out of ya, when he's tricked ya into betrayin' the only people who've shown an interest in yoah welfare..._

The other shook her head vehemently. _This is the boy ya met, long 'fore the world was complicated by mutants and allies. Wasn't he sincere that day, full of understanding, looking for someone to talk to? Haven't ya always dreamed that he'd been as desperately affected by that one, single touch as you? Now, here he is, admittin' it maybe -don't turn him away. Yoah going to make him yoah enemy._

_But think about Bella. In the same instant he held you, he betrayed her. His love. Remember how carelessly he'd tossed her aside. Do you want to be the next discarded toy?_

He was as reclined as he could be, facing the stars, his feet braced on the chair in front of him. Two open hands supporting his head while the rest of him nestled in soft velvet-like seat. Rogue stepped up, drawing his attention.

The uniform was gone, the black frame around his face absent, so that he looked more natural. That thick head of hair was freed, curling vaguely at the ends, falling into his once again black and flickering eyes. He smiled, but not seductively, or cockily. Just a regular 'how are you' grin.

"So..." She took the seat beside his, folding her hands in her lap.

"So..." He responded.

"You a painter?"

"Non. But I got a lotta friends in New York."

"Oh..."

"Lovely view, in'it?"

"Sure is."

"Can' see the stars like dat in de big city."

"Nope."

Suddenly he looked at her, a curious twinkle in his eye, like he was looking at her first time since The Time. "We've met before."

"Yeah. The bus station in uh, Jacksonville. Ya were spendin' time with yoah fiancé. But ya wanted ta go home."

"Good mem'ry." Gambit laughed. "An' you, _Chere_, were returnin' Bella's bracelet, non?"

"Ah would've given it ta her, but frankly, she was kinda scary." A memory flickered, of cold blue eyes, a voice, sharpened to a fine point, blonde hair pouring out around a trench coat. _Ah wouldn't be scared o' her now._

"Amen t' dat." Strange satisfaction blew over her to hear him agree with her about that Bella girl.

"Does that mean ya didn't tie the knot?" Rogue asked.

"Dat means I shredded da rope and burned da remains. Made fo' one helluva bonfire."

_Ha! He didn't marry her. Couldn't get you outta his head. _Rogue was sick of having her own voice in her head. Was she that annoying to everyone else? _No, yoah don't talk so honesty ta everyone else._

"So...Gambit."

"Remy." He corrected.

"Remy," She said, of her own free will. "What exactly do ya want? 'Cause we can shoot the breeze all night, an' in the mornin' we'll still have ta fight over who gets t' influence humanity. If ya want, Ah can talk ta the professor, y'all can come stay with us. We've got everythin', Remy, food, clothes, warm beds-"

"Can I stay in your's?" He asked, teasingly.

"Naw but Ah think Logan has room."

"De short, hairy _homme_?" Remy shuddered. "No 'tanks."

"We have a place for ya." She said, more insistent this time. "If that what ya wanted."

Remy sat up, more serious. His eyes twinkled red and went dark. "I wan'ed you, Rogue. Not t' beg fo' room an' board."

She wasn't completely sure what to make of that, or of the sudden dry feel of her mouth, the fidgeting fingers unable to stand her idle hands. "What do ya mean ya wanted me? Why don' you explain why we're here."

"We're here, C_here_, because its a nice place t' sit. As for de other part..." Remy broke his strong gaze from her and let it fly upwards, into the stars. She saw the angle of chin, the slight rise and fall of his chest, the muscled, yet lean torso that tapered down to a leaner waist. "Y' remember what we talked about dat day?"

"Yeah. 'bout Bella being jealous, an' you just tryin' ta make sure that she wasn't a mistake. 'Bout connections."

"Den we kissed." It had been the single most unexpected, thrilling moment of her life. Not that she felt compelled to share that with him now.

"Yeah."

"Do y' t'ink we made a connection?" _Yes. We both know we did. No. Get away from meh, Magneto lackey. Yes, but Ah ain't gonna give ya the upper hand..._

"Ah was a kid, Ga -Remy. Ah don't know."

He sighed. "I don't know either, _Chere_. Jumped t' conclusions once. Ruined t'ings wit' one fille. Don't wanna do it again."

"But... what are ya tryin' ta say?"

"I wanna know de answer. I wanna know if den, now even, if it's happenin' fo' a reason. I hate maybes, Roguey, an' yo' de biggest one on my list."

"Ah can't kiss ya again."

"Good. Dat's not where I'd like t' look." Remy scratched his ear, looking rather like a scruffy puppy. It made her smile. _Softy, _she chided, _snap out of it_. "I want t' see you again. Jus' us two, nothin' related t' de outside. I wanna get t' know you. I wanna find out if we c'n talk. If we can stand each other when there are no distractions."

"Ain't that a risk for you?" She asked, thinking of herself as well. She wouldn't -couldn't- share this with anyone at the mansion. And she didn't have any friend, confidante, outside to swap secrets with. Seeing Remy again would entail lying, lots of it, and brick wall mental defenses. Was that something she was prepared to do?

"_Oui_." A grin cracked his lips. "What wit' dis place dat makes people afraid o' risk? Da boys, dey de same way. Roguey, y' tellin' me dat de girl who ran away 'cause she wanted t' live her own life, dat she's scared o' a lil' risk?"

But she'd been suffocating there, back in Mississippi. She'd been drowning in other people's expectations. Here...here, it was different. No one tried to mold her into anything other than a resourceful, capable mutant. They didn't stare at her like she was covered in pond scum or pity her because she wasn't invited to another party. They weren't waiting for her to conform. And they trusted her.

Like she'd trusted Risty. She shut her emerald eyes. "Shit." She whispered. Just like Risty, like her mother. She wouldn't be that person; she refused. Her mouth opened, rejection waiting to pour out -when her eyes reopened and caught another glimpse of the Cajun.

_It's a gambit, but isn't everything? _Those were her own words, to him. Persuading him that he couldn't keep asking what if. _What if,_ Rogue, _what if what ya felt all those years ago wasn't just static electricity. The X-men'll understand. They ain't the puritanical mob waitin' ta brand a letter L... for LIAR...on yoah chest. They'll understand._

_It's a gambit._

_A Gambit._

_Gambit. Can you say no ta that? Ta him? An' if ya can convert 'im, won't that be workin' for the benefit o' the team? That's all ya want. Ta bring him outta the dark side._

She stared at him, evenly. "All right. We'll make nice an' be friends."

Gambit's grinned broadened. "Good."

* * *

The vans were home. All of them. Rogue groaned to herself as she walked up the steps of the mansion, dreading the encounter inside. She hadn't been prepared for the masquerade to begin quite so soon. Nevertheless, it was upon her, and she would have to face it.

Her mental walls clamped down tightly, drawing strength from every telepath she'd ever absorbed. The professor and Jean would know her better than any other mind reader; they'd pick up on things if she weren't careful. Thankfully, she'd also noticed that Logan's bike was gone.

_Be careful._

She pulled the doors opened. A sea of faces greeted her.

"Rogue." Nightcrawler cried out. "You've finally returned. Ve vere organizing the search party just now."

"Yeah, like, I can't believe you started a new hobby while we were away. I'd love to go shell hunting. But at night? Isn't that kinda dangerous? Did you find any nice ones? Can I see them?" Shadowcat exclaimed, in a flurry of words. Her face was a curious, orange-sunburned tan, stretched almost painfully in a smile.

"Sorry, Kit. Ah couldn't find anything worth bringin' home t'night."

Scott and Jean were in a lazy embrace near the professor. Scott saluted her in a mock military fashion. "So, how was it leading the new troops for a few days, Captain?"

"Kinda fun," she said. She turned towards the professor. "But Ah didn't think y'all be returnin' so soon. O' at the same time. What happened?"

"A call," Xavier answered. "We have a very important job to do in a few days; I want us to map out a routine and practice it before the time comes. I contacted Logan and requested he return everyone to the mansion tonight."

"Yeah," Scott answered. "But we're uh, keeping this whole deal under wraps for the time being. We don't want the Brotherhood or Magneto to find out."

Rogue laughed, mirthlessly. _Without Risty, who'm Ah gonna tell?_

* * *

Notes:

1. **Not-So-Individual Response**: A word on Carol...gosh, does everyone just assume that the only reason Carol would be brought into a fic is just so that Rogue can absorb her? Maybe I happen to truly, really care for that character and wanted desperately to write her into a story of mine. Did you ever think about that? Did you? DID YOU!? Well, if you did you've wasted your time, because I've never developed any great love for the person whose caused Rogue such angst. HOWEVER (and prior to ever reading Ish's little comment, so that didn't mess me up, but it so could have), the Rogue takes Carol's powers, Rogue is sad story has been done before and by writers far better than I, and every now and then I do like to be a little original, you know? So just don't expect Carol to wind up in the infirmary, otay? I mean, she_ might_. Or she might not. Or maybe she will, but not for the reasons you're thinking. Quien sabes?

2.** Individual Responses**

**ME**: Um, oops. The update didn't come so soon, but HA! because I've already eaten the cake and all the chocolate strawberries too! Hope ya liked this chapter. Thanks for the review. I'll really update faster if you offer me a glass of milk now, to finish it off (skim is fine, I hate whole)

**Too many names to mention, Shinigami, Prettyputty**: Thanks! You guys are the best! You can have any imaginary prize you'd like! I'll deliver it myself.

**Trunks Girl**: I am glad so many people have been reviewing. It makes me feel all special and happy and stuff. I've never met a spangled mongoose larry before (just a spangled mongoose named george). Thanks!

**Vagabond**: I'm glad you liked the newbies. I was hesitant at first, but I kinda like them now. Please review again!

**Rogue Star**: You do not know this, but you started the idea which eventually filled in a gap I'd found while mapping out a vague sketch of this story. I'll let you know when we get there. Thanks! And thanks for the review!

**Snow Queen, Leigh, Rogue-aholic**: Thanks! You are so cool! Really, like cooler than cool whip. Cooler than an igloo. Cooler than a container of cool whip in an igloo!

**Tabby**: Will they discover the secret history? Right now, our couple is fairly intent on keeping the rest of the world out of their private encounters, but who knows...dun dun dunnnn. You'll just have to read more!

**Bunny Angel**: That crazy Remy. Such the daredevil. Thanks!

**Emerald**: I almost left Carol like that, but it wouldn't serve my purpose. sigh Like I said earlier, the whole absorbing thing awaits to be seen -.

**Ish**: First off, you said don't let it take so long next time...er, ha ha ha. Two months isn't that long, is it?  
You wanted to kick carol in the teeth? Ah, but look how horribly unsanitary a person's mouth is -suppose there's some freak accident while you're kicking her, and you end up with an infection in your foot that affects your circulatory system, travels up to your brain, and makes you not like Romy stuff. What would happen **_then_**? Remy has to win the love triange? But -no, I'm just kidding, OF COURSE its gotta be Romy or nothing at all. Or else the world wouldn't spin right, anarchy would ensue, etc. Thanks!

**Neurotic Temptress**: silence I can't even look at your name yet without thinking of how sad your ending made me. You can't see my lower lip trembling, fighting back the cries of sadness, but it is! Sigh And now I read your update and its got Rogue kissing someone that seems like Logan**_ in what better be a purely platonic way!!!_** All I know is it better end up in Rominess fluffier than that snuggles bear sitting on top a mountain of cotton candy, silk feathers, and whipped cream clouds. Oh yeah, and thanks for the review!

**FlybyStardancer, Immortal, Lilmissstiff, buffyangelus**: Thank you guys so v. much for your oh, so nice reviews. I swear, you guys spoil me. As always, you can have whatever imaginary prize you'd like.

**Dreams of Magic**: Well, you asked this a long time ago; You've probably found a story like that by now. And sadly...I am unable to advocate/promote/endorse any story that features Rogue with anyone besides Remy. But thanks for reviewing!!!

**Panther Nesmith**: Mmm. I am afraid, that given the ninety degree weather, I was forced to give my hot chocolate back to the butler. sigh Well, okay first I gulped down the drink, and then I gave the cup back, but...However, the cookies, dear, are absolutely delicious. I must have the recipe.

I'm glad you like the way his charm was depicted. I know myself, after reading ch. 3, I was a bit sloppy, but I kinda liked the way his charm worked too. That was the funnest part to write. Thanks for the review!

**Goddess Evie**: Ah, the blush, I fear, shall never fade. I will be perpetually pink now, because you reviews are so nice. I wish only that I could offer you a thanks of equal niceness.

**AngieX, Rogue LeBeau, This is sex, yagirl-123, Yumiko**: Thank you! Hey, do you know how many different combinations I can use to say thank you, or something nice? Let's try it. URtheBest! ThankU! UguysRsoKul! Well, that's enough of that. I feel like I'm trying to decode some high school senior's yearbook quote. And besides that, you are so fantastically wonderful, you deserve to have it fully typed out, non? Thanks again, I LOVE YOU ALL!

**Gaea**: She totally should have punched him -I wouldn't tolerate anyone else hurting Remy like that, only Rogue . Thank you v. much! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

**Infinity-x-forever**: A recent Romy 'shipper! That's fantastic. There can never be enough of us! Thank you!

**Alwaysright**: I want you to know, I take your name v. seriously. Yes, when you say something, I must assume that its, well, right. So thank you v. much for your nice review!

I'm posting a short Romy deal in the movie section today as well, so maybe you guys could drop by there, read, review. Please? Questions, comments, and coconuts can be sent to me at

**REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW**


	5. Five

**New AN**: Well, seeing as how this chapter is really where the revival began a few weeks ago, and I started using spell check again, there will be v. little changes from here on out.

_Well, I decided to do something nice for this fic on its one-year anniversary. Like, give it an update. I know you'd like me to explain why it's taken so long, and I'd like to explain, but my lawyer says I'm not allowed to talk about it publicly until after the trial. All I can say is this: I fought the law, and the law won._

_No, seriously I was having major computer problems. As in, I didn't have one. First it was broken, then it was fixed, then it was not really fixed and I had to wait until a new one made itself available. Which is, like, now._

_Since it's been well over a year, if you don't wanna read it all, I'll give you the cliff notes version of the first four chapters:_

_Chapter One: 13-year old Rogue meets Remy at a train station. Sparks fly, they kiss, they part, they meet again years later._

_Chapter Two: Recap from Remy's POV. Bella gets dumped._

_Chapter Three: Carol, Lorna, and Betsy join the X-men. Play minor roles, don't worry. Remy convinces bad guys to rob a band so he can see Rogue. They both remember._

_Chapter Four: Remy gets in trouble. Meets Rogue again anyway. Decide to make the meetings a regular deal, but ultra secret. Missing X-men find their way home late at night._

**PLEASE REVIEW THIS STORY. Please? Pretty please?**

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter 5**

**The Next Morning...**

Bobby Drake thought it terribly unfair that he should be expected to continue his chores so soon after the X-men had returned from their Camping Trip From Hell. His arms could barely hold the broom as he danced it down the long, long hallway, so sore were they from push-ups and pull-ups and every other exercise that wasn't so bad until it had to be done a million times in a row. Not that he dared to complain. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that conforming was easier on the body than defiance.

He yawned, pausing at mirror that offered back the picture a sleep-looking, blonde-haired male. The guy looked terrible. At least, Bobby thought, he could straighten out a piece of hair that was sticking up. Logan couldn't fault him for taking the time to look almost presentable. After all, they did have new recruits around.

And speaking of new recruits, Bobby realized he could see their reflection in the mirror, as well as his own. He turned around and smiled at the sight they made, standing outside the conference room with their ears glued to the wall.

He hadn't been invited to the conference room, Bobby thought glumly. Why didn't they think him a real member of the X-men? But he didn't mention that to the girls as he approached them. Instead, he leaned against the door and smile.

"You're doing it all wrong," he informed them. "If you wanna hear what's going on, you gotta come over here. Come on, I'll show you..."

* * *

**Inside the Conference Room...**

There was someone new in the conference room for the first time in quite a while. The stranger with strong, confident posture, waves of lavender hair, and an innocent, bright-eyed face that hid a thousand secrets sat to Charles' right.

Elisabeth Braddock hadn't wanted to join the X-men. Though Warren had recommended the team a thousand times over, she hadn't been convinced that she needed a mentor, or a team. Already an able telepath and a rather skilled ninja, she had refused to even give Xavier her real name. "Call me Psylocke," she'd said. But eventually, after watching clips of the X-men in action, and after hearing about the Danger Room, she'd agreed.

Pity her new arrival wasn't the only reason Xavier needed to speak with the X-men. That would haven been a pleasant, light-hearted conversation. Instead, he had something else to share. News.

Work.

He felt Jean's mind, curious but cautious, as she noticed his mood and tried to learn more. He gently held her back. Just a moment, he sent her. We're almost ready. And they were. The seats had all been taken now; he was only waiting for the buzz of early morning mumblings to die down. After a few more complaints, yawns, and sleepy fits of laughter, all eyes settled on him and a kind of inquisitive quiet seized the room.

"Good morning," He said, smiling at them. "You're probably wondering why I've called this early morning meeting...why I've called you home in general."

"No sir," Kurt responded quickly. "I never question a miracle." Logan leaned forward on the table, and the young German moved away.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, there's a very important reason you must know. " Xavier went on. "I received a call yesterday afternoon from an old friend of mine, Dr. Johan Franklin. He's a brilliant man, one of the founders of GenCo...you are all familiar with the company?"

"That's Genes-R-Us, right?" Kitty asked, referring to the company's popular nickname. "They're like the cutting edge of all things genetic."

"Aren't they also the ones who've turned down like fifty thousand grant offers?" Rogue asked. "They may be a bunch o' geniuses, but that don't sound too smart ta me."

"Yes, they are famously selective in their acceptance of offers. It was formed many years ago, you see, by a group of men who sought to advance science but feared the social and political ramifications of their work. Even now, only a small portion of their research is ever made public. The majority is held in hidden archives. They don't want contributors to have influence or access to these archives."

"They don't another Hiroshima," Scott said.

"'Exactly. Now, they've existed for some time this way. But, according to Dr. Franklin, problems started with the death of fellow founder Ahab Arch in June of last year. The Board realized he was the fifth member they'd lost... and voted to go through an extensive, rigorous, and extremely careful process to elect new Board Members. They hoped to find younger men, who shared their ideals. All went well, and they believed they were successful. Until, that is, yesterday when Franklin overheard a conversation between one of the new men and Senator Kerrigan -a known anti-mutant sympathizer. Now, Franklin fears for his work on mutant genes.

So, this afternoon, he will be arriving here under the guise of Christopher Clark, a reporter, and he and his work will remain under our care until the issue has been resolved. I don't need to remind you that this is a serious issue. No one is to know about Mr. Clark's true identity, not even the other students. You will be put on constant call, so be ready to respond, if need be."

"Do you have any idea how long it'll take to have this resolved, Professor?" questioned Scott, who was already formatting a schedule in his mind. Scott loved schedules the way other teenagers liked video games and sugary sweets. Xavier was sorry to disappoint the young man.

"At the moment, no. But we may learn more once Mr. Clark arrives." They all gave him solemn nods. They didn't like having restrictions placed on their summertime, he could tell, but they seemed determined to tough it out. Or at least save the complaints until he was out of earshot.

He sighed quietly, and then folded his hands across the table. "Perhaps it's time for some better news? I'm sure all of you have noticed Miss Braddock joining us at the table today. She's come to us, care of England, to learn and teach. She'll be joining you in the classroom, Ororo, until she feels ready to handle her own. She'll also become a regular on the team, if that's all right with the rest of you."

"We'd love to have her." Jean said, ever the eager diplomat.

"You're telling me," Kurt said with a wink in the Brit's direction.

"Like he's even got a chance." Kitty scoffed. "He's younger, and a poor man compared to Warren Worthington III."

"Hey."

"And no where near as attractive." Rogue added.

"Vhat?"

"Or dashing."

"Hey, I've got a sword. Zat's a classic sign of dashingness."

Elisabeth leaned over towards them. "I hate to intrude on a conversation where I only know 1/3 of the speakers, but perhaps I feel inclined to point out that Warren's quite the swordsman himself. In fact, it was his beautiful armory that first attracted my attention. He has the most amazing suit of white metal. It is absolutely stunning. Shines like the sun itself."

"Gee Kurt," Kitty said. "He's older, richer, better looking, and could actually be described as a white knight in shinning armor. You've totally got a chance." Everyone but Kurt laughed at that.

Xavier pushed himself a slightly away from the table, casting Logan a glance, and nodded towards the wall behind him. Logan stood up and stepped out of the room. Then, Xavier addressed the group one final time. "Now that we've gotten through the big news, I'd also like to add that I've given Scott the authority to throw a few unplanned Danger Room sessions, to test our ability to react in emergency situations. Please respond accordingly. And, you may all have a very pleasant morning."

As everyone stood up to leave, they were passed by Logan, who was reentering with Bobby Drake, Lorna Dane, and Carol Danvers in tow. None of them made eye contact, except for Bobby, who shrugged helplessly and called out, "Does someone want to finish sweeping the floor for a dollar?"

* * *

Outside the conference room, the mansion had come alive at last. Rogue groaned inwardly as she heard a blast of music pounding against the walls as she neared the living room. Chances at peace were so rare, and thanks to the surprising longevity of the meeting, hers had been torn away like a lion's first bite into a newly caught carcass.

"Hey, Rogue. The meeting finally ended, huh?" Tabitha called as they crossed paths in the hall. The blonde smirked, "Its times like these, when you guys are woken up in middle of the night to listen to some boring lecture that I'm reminded there are benefits to not being a member of the X-men."

"Really? That's funny, Tabs, 'cause it's times like these, when you're standin' there so still and so damn full o' yoahself that I'm reminded how easy it would be ta hide yoah body from the authorities. If he happened ta find out, Xavier couldn't turn me in; it'd be bad mutant press at a crucial time."

"Interesting. I wonder if empty threats always come from people with empty heads." Tabitha teased, pausing in her walk.

"Why don't we give you a lobotomy an' find out."

Tabitha's feet moved back and she sighed. "Can't you ever let me win Verbal Chicken, Rogue?"

"No."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "I eagerly wait the day when someone dares to challenge you, and wins, Rogue. There will be such grand celebrations. Festive parties as far as the eye can see."

"Ah'll bet. Do ya even live here?"

"Blah, blah, whatever. I don't deal in details," Tabitha said, waving off her question. "Hey, where are you going, anyway? You're not going to place an order for Italian food, too, are you? Remember: there are good carbs and bad carbs, and pasta makes Santa's naughty list."

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Why would Ah be goin' ta order pasta this early in th' mornin'?"

Tabitha shrugged. "'Cause there's a restaurant open right now. We found the menu stapled onto our front door this morning when Jubes went out to get the paper. It's some new place...um...Antonia's, or something. Fine cuisine at any time of the day. You know the guys. Once they realized they could have food delivered right now, they had it delivered."

"'Figures."

"Of course."

"An' yet, now Ah've got a cravin' for lasagna."

"Remember the carbs." Tabitha warned. "The menu's on the kitchen table. Next to the phone, naturally."

She disappeared around the corner before Rogue could mention that she'd been joking. In fact, she was on a strict diet. It was part of her self-imposed training program. But then again, as she made her way towards the kitchen, Rogue realized she probably wouldn't have told Tabitha that, anyway. Though she was very determined to improve her combat skills, it was something that she preferred to do in private. If everyone knew, then Xavier would ask if she was feeling inadequate and want her to go through counseling; Kitty would ask if she was lonely since losing Risty, and wanted to 'hang out' more; Scott would ask if she was not being challenged enough during regular DR sessions, and want her to try out some of his harder programs.

And she definitely did not want any of those things.

Fallen clusters of fruity flakes crunched beneath her shoes as she entered the kitchen. Some one had left the orange juice out on the table, to grow warm and hospitable to germs, apparently. Despite this, Rogue sought out a clear glass from the cupboard and poured herself some. And as she flooded her mouth with sweet, tepid, orange-yellow liquid, her eyes fell on the flier Tabitha had been speaking of.

It was a red, laminated sheet, with the words: Antonia's, Italy's Finest printed across in big bold letters. For a limited time only, we will be open 24 hours a day. We are located on 45 Duringham Rd, and are available at 786-987-452. Drop by or pick up the phone anytime!

She ignored it, but Jean entered the room moments, carrying a several boxes. "Hey, Rogue, there you are." She exclaimed, as though she didn't have the ability to scan the entire mansion and know where any given person was at, at any given moment. "I've got your order from Antonia's."

"Ah didn't place an order," Rogue answered.

"Yeah, neither did I. But the guys went on a crazy food spree while we were in the conference room, and picked something out for everyone. I'm helping them pass out the orders now." Jean stared down at the boxes, and using telekinesis, slid out one of the bottom ones, carefully rearranging the others so they wouldn't fall. "Here you go," She said, as the isolated contained levitated towards Rogue's waiting hands.

"Thanks." With that, Jean was gone.

Rogue sighed and wondered what she ought to do with the meal. Save it for later? Perhaps. Sell it to the highest bidder? Better. But first, she would have to know what it was. She unfolded the first flap and took a glance inside.

Immediately, she knew something was awry. In the box, which held her name on one side, sat another box, this one not white cardboard, but black and plastic. She set both of them down on the counter and removed her gloves, not wanting to ruin them with red marinara sauce. Then, carefully, she pulled out the plastic container.

There was a latch on one side, which she flipped open with the edge of her fingernail. The container sprang apart, revealing a piece of paper, folded into the shape of a dove. She set the paper bird down on her palm and sighed. Her name was written again on the dove's wing, this time in elegant, curved letters. The other side said, 'open me'.

She did just that, and the riddle was easily solved.

_It's Five O' Clock Somewhere, including Antonia's two days from now. Will you miss me 'til then?_

Rogue smiled.

* * *

**The Next Day...**

Pietro knew he was impatient, and he never cared. How did everyone else expect him to feel, when they were so incredibly, insufferably slow? It was like someone had pressed the slow motion button on the whole world. As he waited for Magneto's call, he tapped his anxious fingers along the wooden table, and thought back to the last time he'd seen the Acolytes.

They thought they were so good. As if one of them were Magneto's son, his heir. He'd have to have a talk with them; he'd have to let them know their place. Especially that Gambit. The guy was a professional thief, how could his loyalty possibly be confirmed? He half-expected Peter to burst through his door one day, complaining that Gambit had deserted, and taken half their belongings with him.

It wouldn't surprise him in the least if that were exactly what happened. The Cajun was always setting his sights on things that belonged to others -like Rogue. No sooner had Pietro decided that if anyone suited him well, it was the Goth, than Gambit burst into the scene and made a move for her himself!

He was like a pest; Pietro wished he could just swash him under his foot like an ant. Just thinking about it cheered him up a little more. Maybe he'd even show Ant-Gambit a little mercy and only lock him up in a little plastic container, where the bug could enviously watch him and Rogue enjoy a romantic relationship.

He sighed.

Of course, there were other ways to hurt the Cajun. Which brought his attention back to his current task, waiting for Magneto to call, so he could offer his input on Gambit's punishment. Magneto had been in talks with some shape-shifting mutant, trying to pull him over to Acolytes. Gambit was to show this person around.

But Pietro had someone else in mind, someone who might help Magneto's cause -it was a little uncertain how much- but was sure to lock a chain around Gambit's neck. He smiled, deviously.

His phone rang.

* * *

**The Day After...**

Someone had once told Gambit that cooking was for women or for silly men with tall white hats and large bellies. Of course, this man hadn't known he was speaking to the Prince of Thieves, a master chef, who preformed as well in the kitchen as he did at the card table.

If the man had known, he would've guarded his tongue -and gold- a little better.

Remy recalled this man with a warm smile as he drizzled syrup over the dessert he'd prepared. It was funny, how prone people were to saying all sorts of odd, and untrue things. Like when he'd promised loyalty to Magneto.

Once finished with the meal, he turned his attention to the table. Tony had left out the really nice dishes, the ones he called 'Family China'. Only for special occasions. Remy smiled again as he fingered the soft napkins. Antonia's had such a warm, welcoming atmosphere; it was like coming home. The perfect place to seduce Rogue into... friendship.

He sat down at the table and imagined her sitting across from him, her dark, brooding eyes staring back with a look of perfect indifference. Well, not perfect indifference, because everybody had to care about something. The real question was what interested Rogue? Was she a zealot for mutant rights like that Professor Xavier? Did she worry about school and plan to spend the better part of her future away at college?

It would be interesting to talk to her. Just talking would be a nice change of pace, since there certainly wasn't an awful lot of intelligent discourse going on at the Acolytes' House.

Remy folded his arms on the table and grinned at his imaginary Rogue. He would unfold her like a birthday present, carefully, slowly, but purposefully, determinedly. He'd abandoned his old life because of her, he reminded himself. He had to know that he'd done it for an exceptionally good reason.

"Look's like yoah havin' fun without me. Maybe Ah should just go on home, then." He heard Rogue say all of a sudden, and he turned his neck around to see her hanging in the doorframe. She was covered in a long black coat that extended down to her calves, worn out blue jeans, sandals, and a pair of bright green gloves. Of course, he thought, the best thing she was wearing was a half-smile that just barely curved her lips.

"Yo' early," He remarked, glancing back at the table he hadn't completely cleared. "Bbut that's all right, I can understand you wantin' ta see me as soon as possible. I am awfully hard t' resist." He pointed to the clock hanging from the wall.

"Am early?" Rogue asked in such a way as to make him believe that she'd been hoping to come a little late. He didn't tell her that the clock on the wall was eighteen minutes fast.

"Sit down, Chere," He said, standing up and inviting her towards the chair he'd intended for her. "I made y' somet'in'."

"Is it a Cajun repellent?" She asked.

"Non."

"Too bad."

"Mebbe you like dis just as much." Gambit set down the dish, and took an incredible amount of satisfaction away from the fact that her eyes sparked, and she sighed, quietly.

"Pecan pie."

"Not just any pecan pie. Dis is da LeBeau Pecan Pie, Chere, I guarantee you it's da best t'ing you ever tasted. Except f'r me, dat is."

She blushed faintly, but reached for the pie all the same. "There isn't a bakery in Bayville that makes this right."

"Didn't you ever learn t' cook?"

"Not this. It was a special thing at our house. Irene was the only one allowed ta cook it, an'only on special occasions. Usually that meant whenever Momma was comin' home, but she did it when Ah got good grades in school, or things like that."

"Dis is kinda a special occasion, ain't it? So I guess, I'm almost fittin' in wit' Darkholme traditions, non?"

Rogue laughed. "Don't let Mystique hear ya say that." Then she dropped into abrupt silence, and Remy remembered what he'd heard about Mystique and her teenage alter ego, Risty.

Reaching forward, he covered her hand in his. "I can understand it, y' know, her wantin' t' be close t' you."

"She didn't want ta be close ta me, she wanted ta be close ta our database. She used me."

"But she could've used anyone, Chere. I've seen day Pryde girl, she's awful friendly. Wouldn't Mystique have gained access to da mansion a whole lot quicker wit' her? Or what about da younger kids, they don't t'ink twice 'fore invitin' in friends. But she spent time wit' you."

"Wow." Rogue said, "Ah oughta be happy that she decided she could kill two birds with one stone. Yee-haw."

He removed his hand and shrugged. "It's better than not carin' at all. Now, why don't y' drown whatever troubles y' got left in that pie, y' still haven't tasted it."

"Ah'll remedy that real quick," She said, plunging a spoon into the dish and raising it in this air. As if toasting, she added, "To the possibility o' friendship."

"I'll eat t' that."

The pie was gone, but neither of them had gotten up. "So," Remy said, "We can't talk about home stuff... o' work stuff... o' mutant stuff...what exactly is safe territory for us, fille?"

"Maybe th' weather?"

"Right." Gambit agreed, sarcastically, "Cause we be borin', average people. C'mon Chere, can't we do better n' dat?"

"What would you suggest?" Rogue wondered. Her eyes drifted down to the stack of magazines that lay on the table between them. Teenage girls and pastel colors stared back at her. "We could read in depth articles: how much rouge is too much? Have long have y'all been in the habit o' readin' teeny bopper books, anyway?"

Gambit followed her gaze and smiled. "M' buddy Tony, da one who owns dis place, has a lil' girl named Angela -prettiest t'ing under the age o' 12. These are probably hers. Although," he picked up an issue of Teen Girl and flipped the pages randomly, "we could take one o' these tests. Here's one dat seems especially appropriate: what kind o' friend are you?"

"Sounds like Pulitzer material."

"Hey, it might actually work. We are tryin' t' be friends, non? Don't you wanna know if I'm a Selfish Sally, There-For-Y' Thelma, or True-Blue Trudy?"

The corners of Rogue's mouth twitched, as if she were caught between a smile and a scowl, amusement and annoyance. In the end, she settled for apathy. "Those writers are perfect judges of character, Ah'm sure."

He looked at the printed questions. "Let's see da criteria. Question one: yo' best friend's dog dies and she looks t'you for support. Do you a, pat her on da shoulder and advise her t' keep a stiff upper lip, b, spend all yo' savin's buyin' flowers for Cotton Nose an' insist on speakin' at da funeral, c, shrug an' walk away. That dog was always wakin' you up in the middle o' da night anyway." Remy sighed. "Obviously, da only possible answer is B. There's always ways t' get more money, and maybe you've had a crush on y' best friend's sister. By helpin' out da friend, you come across as considerate, kind, an' wealthy."

"Remy, the test is warped enough, without you twistin' it more."

"I be answerin' honestly, Chere."

"Ah'll bet."

He grinned. "Fine. You answer da next one in a perfectly honest, sensible way. Y' find out da guy yo' best friend likes is now single an' free. You a, call up yo' friend immediately before someone else snatches da boy. B, decide you'll tell her at lunch -she's waited t'ree months, what's t'ree hours. C, forget y' friend; you like da boy too an' dis is yo' big chance."

"There's no fun way outta that scenario." Rogue said, calmly. "If Ah choose myself, Ah lose m' friends. Ah don't know if a boy's worth that much. But Ah ain't interested in playin' a minor role in the love life of a boy Ah like again."

"Again?" Remy frowned. Was there someone that she liked? One of her friends? He hadn't considered it before, but it was perfectly plausible. But who? Not the blue one -they were legally siblings, and she didn't strike him as the Jerry Springer type. Spike? No, reports said she hadn't been too broken up about his leaving the team. Scott Summers,then? Or Logan, who had to be at least fifty. Or that Warren Worthington, who'd been seen around the mansion more and more lately...

"Ah didn't say again." Rogue said.

"Yes you did." Remy responded.

"No, Ah didn't."

"I heard it wit' m' own two ears."

"Well, then Ah meant-"

"T' lie better?" Remy offered.

"Th' situation between you an' Bella," Rogue finished with a glare. "Ah liked ya a lot back then."

"Oh..." He wasn't sure if she was lying; the girl had walls almost worthy of a telepath. But she was definitely eager to change the subject. With a chivalrous sigh, he did just that. "Do you know how t' play poker?" He wondered, already reaching into his pockets for a deck.

"Yeah."

"Good." Remy grinned. "How 'bout a little Texas Hold 'Em. Winner gets t' pick our next meetin' place."

"Let's do it."

"Okay, but what about cards after?" Remy teased.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Shuffle the damn deck, Gumbo."

"Oh, an' don't feel bad if I win. I don't t'ink I've ever lost."

She scoffed, like it was an exaggeration. "Tell ya what, Remy, let's up the stakes. Winner gets ta choose th' next meetin' place, an' th' outfit the loser wears ta said place."

Rogue stared down at her hand. Her losing hand. Her stupid, awful, what-are-the-chances, now-there'd-be-no-peace hand. The Ace of Spades and it's partner in crime, the Ace of Diamonds, seemed to be gloating, with that ridiculous, annoying, curled up smile, and those knowing eyes, as if they'd been purposely leading her astray all along. She heard Remy clear his throat.

"Chere? Dis is da part where y' put yo' hand down an' show me what ya got." Of course Remy was eager for the hand to be laid down, he sported a flush: all hearts from ten to ace.

She had three queens as well, but they did her no good. The one that was missing was what hurt her; the Queen of Hearts was on the table, neatly tucked between Gambit's King and Jack.

Her eyes traveled to the stack of M&M's in the center of the table, then to Remy, then back again to her own cards. Her lips remained firmly closed, not betraying any of the dismay she was feeling.

"C'mon, Rogue. Suck it up an' put down da cards." Remy called. "I tol' y' I never lose." Somehow, his arrogant words failed to comfort her. It didn't help to know she was part of a long line of losers.

Had he cheated? He was a bad guy; of course he'd cheated. What else had she been expecting? Honesty?

"I didn't cheat," Remy said, as if reading her thoughts. He only made her more suspicious.

Was there a way to back out of the bet?

"C'mon, Chere."

Why had she been so overconfident?

"Roguey."

He wouldn't make her wear anything embarrassing, right?

"Before I'm an' old man, please?"

Maybe, if she retained a little bit of that telekinesis of Jean's, she could cheat herself, levitating some good cards in her direction when he wasn't looking. It would be hard, though, the way he was staring at her.

As it turned out, she never got the chance to try to plan. In a rather shocking move, Remy made a dive for her cards. She tried to slip out of his way, but he was too fast; they collided, sending the candies sailing in one direction, and themselves in the other.

Hands grabbed onto her wrists and the cards, but she refused to give up them up. She clung them to her chest and tried to spin away, but he managed to get a good grasp over her waist.

She took advantage of Remy's momentary closeness and pushed him hard in the stomach. Perhaps too hard, because he ended up tripping over some bags of flour that had been stacked neatly on the floor, and a light cloud of white powdery substance instantly filled the air.

Rogue froze, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oops."

"Oops?" Came the reply. "Oops?" Slowly, deliberately, Remy sat up, and grabbed a bag, this one unopened, and charged it. He tossed it at her.

But she blocked it like it was volleyball, and the bag ended up hitting Remy. It exploded, sending white powder snowing down on Remy and much of the room. It covered his auburn hair, coated his face, and dusted all of his clothes. He ran a hand down his face, so that he could clear the mess away from his eyes and actually see, making it seem as if he were wearing a mask of dough.

Rogue laughed. "It's th' Pillsbury dough boy," she teased.

"Ha ha." Remy sighed. "Dis is all yo' fault. Y' such a Selfish Sally."

"Whatever, Gumbo. All I know is Ah'm the one who's actually clean, while you're... not so much."

"I can't believe you did dat."

"Ah can't believe ya wanted it ta explode in mah face!"

"Not yo' face," Remy said, "Just... just around yo' clothes."

"Right. So everyone back at th' mansion could be askin' questions?"

He pouted. "We could've taken 'em off you an' washed 'em in da sink. I wouldn't have minded."

"Takin' off mah clothes or washin' 'em?" She asked, dryly.

"Either, or." They were quiet for a moment more. "It's still all yo' fault."

"If you hadn't made a dive for m' cards, none of it would've happened." She reminded him.

"If you had put yo' cards down, I wouldn't have needed t' dive," he countered. "As it is, I win anyway, since you forfeited."

She was quiet.

Five minutes later, Remy was standing and they were both staring at the mess. Remy shook his head, sending tiny clouds of flour into the air; it would take him a long time to clean up the entire kitchen. The scattering of the cards, the flour, and the tiny M&M's was so thorough it seemed almost a deliberate attempt on their part. There was no other reasonable explanation. If Tony were to talk in and see it, well, there'd be no joy in Bayville.

Rogue leaned back into the counter. "Ah am really sorry 'bout my part." They were nice words, to be sure, but somehow the Cajun had trouble accepting them as sincere. Perhaps because she gave the impression of being a volcano, ready to open her mouth and spew out a sea of laughter.

"Dis," He sighed, turning so that he could look at her and wag a disapproving finger, "is all yo' fault."

"You still sayin' that? Besides, it ain't that bad." She argued, using the toe of her shoe to nudge one unspoiled bag of flour.

"An' I'm sure you believe dat too." Remy said. "Since dis ain't yo' friend's place."

"Come on, Remy. Ah'll help ya clean an' in a few short hours, it'll be like new." But the bag of flour she'd touched plopped over unceremoniously, and more flour spilled onto the floor.

"Go," Remy said, pointing in the direction of the exit. "I'll do it m'self."

"'All alone?" Rogue asked, doubtfully glancing across the room. "Ah don't know, Remy. It looks like it'd take hours for a whole group o' people ta straighten this out, Ah can't imagine how long it'd take a slow movin' Cajun boy like you."

"If you don't leave right now, I'm gonna use yo' head t' mop it all up."

She frowned at him, but turned to go. Then, she stopped and looked back in his direction. "Ah did have a nice time, Remy." She walked closer, reaching up to ruffle his hair. While she was so close, she whispered quiety, "An' Ah'll give ya this: you do wear flour awfully well." Then, she darted out of the room, as if to avoid seeing his expression.

Remy saw the mess and thought: it was worth it.

* * *

**Later...**

There was an old, thin, redheaded man sitting at the dining room table when Rogue finally got home. He looked up and smiled as she passed him, and extended a pale hand. "Chris Clark." He said, pleasantly.

Rogue looked down at his hand, and then at her gloveless palms. Her gloves were stuffed in her pocket, covered in flour that wouldn't brush off. "Sorry." She responded.

"You must be Rogue." Clark answered with an understanding nod. "Xavier explained you all in detail. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Darkholme."

"Miss Darkholme?" Someone giggled. They both glanced curiously towards the far wall, where Kitty had begun phasing through. "Miss Darkholme." She repeated, shaking her head. "I haven't heard Rogue called that in a long time." The brunette flashed them a grin as she approached, her ponytail bobbing behind her like the wagging tail of a joyful puppy.

"Well, Hello, Miss Pryde."

"Thank you, Sir. And you." Kitty turned her full attention to Rogue. "You have been gone for quite a while. You missed our monthly Chess tournament."

"We don't have a monthly Chess tournament."

"Yes, we do. We started it today. Scott came away champion, of course, but Kurt put up a battle. It was neck and neck until Kurt lost his bishop and then it just fell apart for our fuzzy blue elfin friend."

"Sounds exciting." Clark threw in.

"Oh, it so was." Kitty said. "Anyway, I signed you for the first battle with Scott next month, Rogue. I just thought I'd tell you that now, so you could, you know, throw in a few practice games over the next few weeks. He's tough competition."

"Thank ya, for that." Rogue sighed.

Kitty turned toward Chris Clark. "Rogue's our resident complainer," she informed him. "If you're ever bored, just tell her something stupid or dorky or whatever, and she'll do that whole rolling her eyes, scowling, frowning, I'm-too-good-for this thing. It's so predictable, it's almost fun. For example," Kitty smiled sweetly at the Southerner.

"Rogue," Kitty said.

"Yeah?" Rogue answered, annoyed at with Kitty's ruse, but desperate to not do anything of the things the brunette had accused her of. She kept her face still, almost nice, almost giving the impression of amusement, as though laughter could come bubbling up at any moment.

"I think I'm going to go shell hunting in the middle of the night...in New York."

Chris Clark raised his brow, obviously realizing the absurdity of such a statement.

And Rogue, who recognized the words all too well, bit her tongue. She really should have come up with a better excuse. At the time, of course, she'd been speaking to a distracted Dr. McCoy -he would have nodded and accepted any story she threw out at him- so she hadn't worked very hard on her excuse. Had she known the X-men would all come home, and McCoy would share her story with everyone...well, she would have made sure it considerably more plausible.

"I think we better talk." Kitty said when Rogue failed to react. "Will you excuse us, Mr. Clark?"

"Absolutely." The old gentleman said.

Together, the two girls departed the kitchen. They entered the empty living room, where Kitty Pryde promptly dropped her petite body onto the couch and sighed. "Our old couches were so much more comfortable. Why does everything nice we have wind up on the wrong side of a huge explosion?"

"We're lucky, is all."

"Well... I guess you're not too far off, really. I mean, sure all of our precious belongings are regularly destroyed in battles, accidents, and the occasional temper tantrum, but at least we can afford to always get them replaced."

"Yeah." Rogue sat down at the end of a chair, wondering what Kitty would ask and how much she should tell. Was her concern showing on her face?

"Yeah." Kitty repeated. "So, as I'm sure you realize by now, your excuse was pretty lame. I mean, I pretended to buy it so other people wouldn't start asking questions, but come on. Shell hunting, Rogue? Where exactly does one shell hunt in Bayville?"

"Ah was distracted," Rogue mumbled. "Ah can't even remember sayin' it."

"Right. I understand that. Sure." The brunette twirled the ends of her hair. "So... what was so distracting?"

Of all the people Rogue could tell the truth to, Kitty would have to be among the more understanding. Rogue knew this to be a fact; after all, the girl was constantly carrying on her love/hate affair with Lance. And she was nice. Rogue had seen her interacting with a lot of different kinds of people, and the younger girl had a side sweeter than Pixie Sticks. Plus, she would be drawn to the romantic angle -how many times had the brunette been seen absently phasing through walls, her eyes glued to the pages of a cheesy romance novel?

On the other hand, few people had a bigger mouth. Kitty loved her gossip, and she so terrible at keeping secrets. Once, they'd bought a present for Logan for his unbirthday -Kitty's idea, since no one was sure when Logan's actual birthday was. It'd taken an awful lot of secrecy to get the present inside the mansion unnoticed... and the girl had blabbed to Jubilee the next day, not noticing that Logan himself was in hearing range.

And this situation wasn't like a ruined present. There wouldn't be a round of sighs, a few rolled eyes, a couple of laughs, and then a happy ending. If the X-men found out Rogue had lied about her whereabouts, especially during a time of potential crisis, there'd be a lot of inquires. Possibly punishments for her, and news would spread to Magneto's charges, where Remy would get in trouble as well. She had more than herself to consider.

And she couldn't take that kind of the risk. "Ah just needed ta clear mah head, Kitty. Ah needed ta be alone."

"And...today?"

"Ah just found out mah best friend was actually mah evil mother. Ah may be from Mississippi, but Ah ain't used ta this talk show garbage. So if Ah need ta get away, an' be on mah own... Can't ya just let me?"

Kitty looked so regretful, Rogue wished she hadn't been so convincing. The younger girl bit her nail and looked down at the ground. "Gee, Rogue. I didn't even think about that. I almost forgot about Risty. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Rogue sighed. "Ah'm sorry too. Ah think Ah made it sound worse than it was."

"No. You're totally right." Kitty answered back. "I'm always complaining about my lack of privacy but here I am being all nosy. But... if you ever need back up, you know, someone who saw you shell hunting... you can always count on me."

Rogue smiled. "Thanks. Ah appreciate that." She stood up and yawned. "Ah'm really hungry now. Ah think Ah'll go back an' get somethin' ta eat."

"There's the number for Tony's on the refrigerator. He delivers." Kitty suggested, as Rogue started to walk away.

"No. Ah don't think they'll be open the rest o' the night."

* * *

**Notes, Unpersonal:**

1. I've got no idea what telephone numbers are like in New York. Considered looking it up, felt too lazy. Sorry.

2. I've tried desperately hard to keep the continuity between this chapter and the previous four. Forgive mistakes, please?

3. Five O' Clock Somewhere is a song. I didn't write it. I didn't sing it. Thus, I do not own it.

4. Sorry it's been a year.

5. Really, really sorry.

6. **Please review? PLEASE REVIEW**? As I mentioned, _Five O' Clock Somewhere_ is a song. As a (not so) clever ploy to bring in reviews, I'm offering this: First person who tells me who sings the song gets to pick out the place where they meet in the next chapter (which will be coming soon! Not because I've become trustworthier, but because I wrote one really, really long chapter and split in half. All that's missing is the Rogue/ Remy meeting). You can fill in as much detail as you like. And hey, offer your suggestions anyway, and you'll probably see them soon enough. I need ideas!

**Notes, Individual** (a.k.a., Eileen reminds people that they once left her reviews and begs them to come back):

**yagirl123, Yumiko, Rogue Warrior Spirit, Makura Konekocool-chick-rae, nessie6, Lady Dragon, IloveJamesK, Ashes Forgotten, samson, Kanshisha Tenshi, Rogue77, Weeble Wobble Chic, Aro, coldqueen, GambitsAceCard, Your Worshipfulness, Gothic Cajunno, .58forbluemornings, Steph Silverstar**: I love you all. I mean, I wouldn't marry you or anything (I'm saving that for the Gambit clone I'm working on in the lab) but certainly you have my everlasting gratitude and loyalty. Thank you so much!

**ME**: thank you for the food! And the review!

**Ish**: I know you thought the shell-hunting thing was lame. Hell, I thought the shell-hunting thing was lame (hence, the explanation in this chapter about the odd excuse). It's been confirmed, I am alive, and you (sadly) can't write uber mushy endings to all my fics. Although I've seen your writing, and your taking over might be an upgrade, though not entirely an ubermushy one! You like angst! I like angst too; it's just difficult for me to write angst well. I struggle. Oh, and he didn't just deliver the note! It was hidden, ha HA! Just don't ask me how it's gonna happen next time. Oh, and yay! I love my spiffiest redezvous note award. I'll treasure it always.

**Flyby Stardancer**: Read the fic! It was cool, thanks a bunch for the review.

**Jean, Ororo, Rogue, and Kurt**: As do I.

**Mic Mic**: You probably know this by now, but Remy LeBeau is Gambit's real name. Peter (Piotr) is Collosus. Thanks!

**Rogue Star**: Um...do you call a year a long time between updates? Thanks!

**Neurotic Temptress**: I hate you. You haven't updated your story! Glad you liked Besty, my greatest fear is that people will hate the fic because I brought in non-Evo characters! Well, it's not my greatest fear, but certainly, it's high on the list. Thanks!

**Z**: I'm always honored that people take the time to review my story, and even more honored that they actually find something they like. People like you make the world (or at least my world) go 'round. Thank you.

**Anda**: Thank you! I love your reviews.

**Leena LeBeau**: why thank you, I like the coconuts. :)

**Geminidragon**: Will the Guild make an appearance? I dunno yet... what do you think, should they?

**fallenangel99**: You know, some times I wonder if I should let Rogue and Remy be together... I mean, obviously there's something to be said about tearing them apart in vicious, mean ways, or else the comic book people wouldn't do it so often. What's that you say? That's just stupid of them? Oh. Well, then I guess I'll have to let myself be the judge. And you guys! Review! Thanks!

**Goddess Evie**: You suggested a young psychotic morph? Hmm... Well, we'll have to see. All kinds of things could happen. If you review, that is. No review, no promises! Please review again! Thank you!

**Rogue4787**: I glad you like my ideas. I try to make situations that could actually happen. Well, in this fic, any way. And maybe the pasta thing was a stretch, I dunno. What do you think? Thanks for the review!

**Kazzeh Sodapop, Roguie89, me, Dinniam, Solitaire3, Valthraema**: You all had questions, comments, accusations, pitchforks to throw at me, and compliments for my last chapter and I have only two things to say in response: One, if I told you everything that's gonna happen, would you still come back? And two, please have all those things for me again!

**Lady Farevay, PomegranateQueen**: Why do people keep telling me it's been so long since I've last updated? it's only been a few weeks, hasn't it? Wait a minute, what's that tiny writing at the bottom of my calendar... that doesn't say 2003, does it? Oh my God! It's been a whole year? No one changed the calender page? My goodness, that sure explains a lot. Will you come back and review again anyway?

**Tigerjade**: Trust me on this: I know what computer problems are like. I actually had a version of this story on the computer that went kaput. It was like, halfway done and suddenly I'd lost everything, including my other WIP. Thank you for your review!

If I forgot your name, just tell me and you'll get a prize.

**Forget sharing! Reviewing is Caring! **Questions? Comments? Coconuts? You know where to find me.


	6. Six

Quick Ans: Rogue4787 won. Yay! She picked the place Rogue and Remy met, so congrats Rogue4787. 

**Please review?**

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter ****Six**

**Two days later…**

'To Rogue' the letter read. The envelope was small and baby blue, a fact that held special significance for her; letters from her absent mother had always been packaged just that way. The printing, however, was not Mystique's; the long and loopy cursive was in Irene's distinct hand.

She took a seat on the couch and felt thankful that she had a moment's privacy. She'd been expecting something like this; Irene often took it upon herself to smooth over any arguments that arose within the family. And usually, her calm, gently delivered advice was enough. But this time…

_She was in on it, too._

Irene had lied, had taken advantage of Rogue, and had abused their relationship. That tear in Rogue's trust wasn't going to be easily mended, certainly not by any letter. What could Irene possibly write? '_I'm sorry, dear; I neglected to tell you that you were raised by a terrorist who now wants your power for her quest against humanity. You understand, don't you?'_

Because she didn't understand, that was the problem. She couldn't fathom how Irene and Mystique had conspired behind her back, when they were supposed to be her parents, her role models, her childhood heroes. She didn't understand what that made her –how much of their beliefs, their characters, their attitudes on life had seeped into her while she was growing up in their house? Was she destined to follow in their footsteps? Irene would know the answer, but Rogue refused to ask.

After thinking about it considerably, she almost threw the letter away. It would've been so easy to stand up, walk to the trashcan, and release the envelope, never to give it a second thought. But, in a testimony to the power Irene still held over her despite everything, she found she lacked the will. She was compelled to read it.

Pausing, Rogue took a deep breath and then slid her thumb through the fold in the envelope, tearing it open. She extended the paper within and read:

**_Dear Rogue,_**

****

**_You surprise me. I know you, you've got a temper that closes your ears and covers your eyes to any other side of the story once you're mad. Imagine my shock, then, when I looked at this moment and discovered that you'd actually read what I'd sent. Or maybe you're just growing up, growing way from that introspective young girl I helped raise. I can see what's going to happen to you, you know, what you'll do, but I can't feel your emotions, I can't tell you what and who you're going to be on the inside._**

****

**_I'm sorry you found out about things the way that you did. It wasn't fair. I hope you will try to remember that there are concerns in this world that demand action –and not always the kind of action that we want to take._**

****

Regardless, we –Mystique and I- would like a chance to atone. I know that you won't accept this offer the first time I make it. But I make, nonetheless. We want you to come home for a while, Rogue. Let us prove ourselves worthy of your memory.

****

Love, Irene.

****

Silently, Rogue replaced the letter and slipped it into her back pocket, thinking it'd be a cold day in Hell before she went back to Mississippi.

* * *

****

**Meanwhile…**

"Can I ask of your progress?" Piotr said to Gambit, while they sparred in the middle of the practice room Magneto had had installed for them. It lacked many of the luxuries that the X-Men's Danger Room was rumored to enjoy, but it suited their purposes well enough. They could fight, and improve their skills, and that was all that Magento cared about. As he spoke, the young, stoic Russian stared down inquiringly through brilliant, reflectively silver eyes that stingily gave away no emotions, but with all the practice Remy had with people, he could read him well, anyway. Like a mother hen, Piotr was pestering, implying with every word that he doubted Remy's intentions regarding Rogue.

But this time, Remy was in no mood to spend the afternoon placating the Russian. Instead of answering, he smiled enigmatically and twirled his staff, all the while maintaining a perfect silence.

After a moment, Piotr sighed. "You do not intent to answer?"

"Why should I? You haven't provided me wit' sufficient incentive," Remy said. His eyes looked beyond Piotr, towards the heavy walls, and he contemplated the amount of energy that would be required to send the bricks raining down on the Russian's head.

"I'm only concerned. You're an intelligent fighter, but the girl may cloud your head. Is she worth Magneto's wrath?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "Mebbe Magneto keeps you on a short leash, _mon ami_. But I stay only so long as it is profitable fo' me. I wouldn't be here if I t'ought Magento was gonna lose da battle 'tween him and da X-Men. An' I ain't gon' jeopardize my paycheck because o' a pretty face."

"And that's all it comes down to? Money?" Piotr asked, obviously uncertain. Remy thought: the Russian couldn't possibly let his life be decided for something so materialistic. He didn't understand the thinking behind mercenaries, and that was an advantage.

Remy shrugged, playing up the angle of a soldier-for-hire. "What else matters? Love? Friendship? Don't be so naïve." Tired of the game, and even more so of the questions, he quickly charged his staff and shoved it into his sparring partner's embrace. It exploded delightfully, and only a small push was needed to send the larger Acolyte sailing into the wall. Pieces of it crumbled down, leaving Remy with a small amount of satisfaction –he'd calculated correct.

A man may have many faces, though his single head allows for only one to show at time; often lost in his easygoing manner and playful taunts was the ruthless streak Remy had gained on the cold-hearted streets of New Orleans. But he let it show through his eyes as he looked down at Piotr. "Don't play inquisitor t' me anymore, Petey," he said. "It doesn't suit y' well."

"I was only concerned." Piotr repeated.

"I don't want yo' concern."

"I know the power affection can hold on a person, Gambit. I've felt it myself."

Remy ignored him, as he turned to leave. He didn't require a lecture, not on this subject he knew only too well. Of course affection could be a weakness –hadn't he proven that when he pushed the entire New Orleans Underworld to the brink of war because of Bella?

But Piotr would not be satisfied, and sooner or later, his constant nagging would alarm Magneto. While Remy felt confident in his ability to handle yet another foe –for what was one more block of stone on an already giant pyramid?- he was not eager to add to the list. Only a fool would be so brash. He'd have to do something to assuage the doubt.

* * *

Inappropriate thoughts were a lot like telemarketers and Internet pop-ups of the mind: though never wanted, and always bothersome to the host, they nevertheless sprang out with an annoying, distracting persistence. _Notice me, notice me, or you'll never in your life have a moment's peace._

Rogue was in the middle of an important mission –at least, that's what Cyclops had said, though she had her doubts. Regardless, she couldn't afford to be distracted by her own wandering mind. Focus was vital. Essential. Crucial. But once the thought of Remy LeBeau had entered her head, she couldn't chase it away.

It had been four days since their last meeting. Not a long time, by any standards, but long enough for her to wonder. What would the next rendezvous be like? Slightly different than the last, she supposed, partly because their time at Antonio's had proven that their experiment could work, they could act like friends, and now they'd both had time to internalize that; and, partly because she'd had an asinine moment when she'd assumed her own card skills could trump his, prompting her to raise the wager and so, Remy would get to dress her up like a doll. Even now she couldn't imagine what had driven her to say clothes. Clothes! Her crucial, protective barrier from a world of too much skin. But it was too late to back out now.

Behind her, someone stirred. Then, a voice came, "Rogue, I don't want to seem Cyke-like, but you're looking pretty spacey. I mean we are trying to scope out an evil villain's hideout, aren't we? Inside that building only a short walk away, all of the Acolytes could be plotting world domination for their boss." Kitty Pryde giggled. "Or baking cookies. Either way, we got to be alert."

"Right." Rogue said, with an air of disbelief. She pushed her friend back, lightly. "Ah am alert, Shadowcat. Don't worry."

"Whatever you say," Kitty murmured, falling back to her own position.

Alone again, Rogue sighed and tried to refocus in on important things. Like where she was. The abandoned building the X-men were surveying was located in the farthest, most secluded corner of Bayville. Somebody's watch had beeped a while ago, making it a little past midnight. Her eyes wandered up to the night sky, where they found mild amazement: looking up at the sky was like staring down at a pool of oil, it was easy to get lost in it's black depths and slight shine. There was no moon to interfere, not twinkle of stars. In fact, the only light available to the team came from a few streetlights that wound around the building, and they were but a sickly, dying halo that seemed to fear the encroaching darkness.

Again, an inappropriate thought: Scott had outdone himself with the Danger Room simulation. The idea that the Acolytes would be located in some dark, inaccessible corner was unlikely, and struck her as rather cliché, but the picture he'd painted was strikingly realistic and beautiful to see. He was becoming an artist in his own right. She wondered if Professor Xavier and Dr. Franklin, both of whom were watching from a distance, thought the same way.

As if in response, Xavier's voice flooded her mind. _Rogue, I'd like to see you._

_Right now? In the middle o' th' mission?_ She thought.

_Yes. I'll explain to Scott later._

_Oh._ With a sigh, she glanced back, towards Kitty Pryde, and beyond her, Nightcrawler. _How am Ah supposed ta get free without disturbin' th' mission? _

_I'll take care of it. _Rogue waited for something to happen. But neither of them moved. She was going to ask the professor what to expect, when it dawned on her just how much they hadn't moved. Not a muscle. Not a blink. _Oh_, she said again, understanding. Standing up, she crept quickly past her frozen teammates until the Danger Room doors closed behind her.

Xavier was waiting on the other side. "They're confused, but Scott will take it as part of the mission," He explained, leading her down the hallway. "Meanwhile, I have a job for you."

"What kind o' job?"

"The easy kind," he said, smiling. "I'd like you to tail a certain Acolyte." He handed her a folder, which she promptly opened. A familiar face stared back at her –Remy LeBeau's.

"What's goin' on?"

"He's been seen at the Karot club for the past three nights. The owners know Logan, and they've conveyed their concern to him. They believe Gambit may be scoping the club, preparing for a theft. Last night, Logan served as a security guard, but he had to leave town for the day. And it doesn't matter much, because according to his and the owner's report, Remy LeBeau always leaves at a certain time with a companion he meets there."

"Th' same one?" She asked.

"Yes." Xavier handed her a new folder. "This is the female he meets."

She opened it and glanced at the lady. "Who is she?"

"We don't know. But you'll be taking a camera with you, and hopefully we can identify her soon."

"What do ya think they're meetin' for?" Rogue wondered.

"Again, I don't know." He smiled. "Hopefully, it'll be nothing more than a budding romance."

Rogue didn't smile back.

* * *

**Four Hours Later…**

Remy LeBeau led his female companion to the side of a car. Rogue thought: probably her car, but then she didn't know for sure. She'd never seen Remy LeBeau drive before. It troubled her, that she didn't know such a simple detail about him. Lifting up her camera, she snapped a picture of the two.

The girl was pretty, but nothing excessive. She wasn't going to turn many heads, or stop traffic. Curly brown hair framed her face, and she was dressed in black slacks and a matching sweater that would've hugged her curves if she hadn't been so thin. Rogue paused, mid-thought, and shook her head. She was already letting Remy cloud her judgement of people?

Reaching into the car, Curly Brown pulled out a box and handed it to Remy, looking quite pleased. Rogue snapped more pictures as the box traded hands. Remy, for his part, flashed a charming grin and planted a kiss on the girl's forehead. Curly blushed and turned away. Rogue frowned.

There were more words said, and Rogue took as many pictures as her camera would allow, wondering if someone could piece together the pictures like a flip book, and read the pair's lips. Curly, meanwhile, pulled herself into the car –so it was her's- and drove off. Rogue slid the camera into her pocket and moved closer to Remy.

Or tried to.

One minute she was nearing Remy LeBeau, and the next she was standing alone on an empty street. How, or when he'd disappeared was something of a mystery to her. He wasn't _that_ fast, and she wasn't that inept. But that didn't change the fact that he was missing from her sight.

"Well, well, well," a voice said behind her. "I think yo' da best lookin' tail I've ever worn."

She shut her eyes. "Remy." Maybe he was that fast, after all.

"Roguey," he laughed, coming up beside her, still holding the box. "I can't say I'm not glad t' see you. Didn't expect da X-Men would be so careful as t' send someone, but so long as they are, 'least it was you here. Saves m' a trip an' da trouble o' t'inkin' up another way t' get yo' attention. I t'ink I need da break. Last time's was a lil' lame, _non_?"

She put a hand on her hip, and glanced at him skeptically. "Ah catch ya meetin' with someone strange girl an' ya think Ah'm gonna believe you were on yoah way ta see me? Ah'm not that gullible!"

"Why Roguey, y' almost sound jealous." Remy teased. "Don't tell me I've already wormed m' way into yo' heart."

"That won't be a problem, since it ain't true. What's goin' on with the girl, you, an' the box?"

He looked at the object in his hands before answering. "Have you ever noticed dat it's harder t' convince people o' da truth than it is t' sell 'em a lie? I could've said I'm on Acolyte business, an' if y' stuck t' our agreement, you'd have t' make due wit' what y' caught wit' yo' camera, _non_? No mo' questions, no mo' suspicious stares. But I really did plan on makin' m' way towards yo' side o' town, _Chere_. Dat girl y' saw was a friend who was helpin' me find some clothes an' make reservations fo' us."

"Ya couldn't find yo' own clothes?" She said, still not quite believing him.

"Not like dis." With a smile, he removed the top of the box and tilted it down so she could get a good look at the contents. And then… she wanted to smack herself, for sitting neatly, perfectly folded, was a pinstripe suit and a fedora. Beneath those, she could also see ladies gloved and the bottom of a fringy dress.

"They're clothes," she muttered like an idiot.

"I know. Special ordered. Da place we're headin' to has a dress code."

"Oh."

He put an arm around her and shook his head. "C'mon, _Chere_. I'll drive us there on m' bike. I'll even have y' home at a nice, tardy hour."

* * *

"So you walk through walls and offer relationship advice," Carol Danvers said to Kitty Pryde, as they made their way outside. The X-men's training session had ended, so the brunette had agreed to help improve Carol's fighting control.

"I do it all," Kitty said with a smile.

"There's this guy back at my old school who totally dug me," Carol sighed, "And I liked him back. But I've never believed in long distance relationships. Now that he's written me, should I write him back?"

"Yeah," Kitty said, touching Carol's arm so they both could phase through the front door. "But make it sure it's clear that you just want to be friends right now." They stepped outside.

* * *

"Ah look like a flapper." Rogue said, staring down at the dress that she'd donned. It, thankfully, still covered her mostly all over, but still… she looked like a flapper.

Remy, for his part, was also in costume by this time. They'd driven to a part of New York that seemed questionable to Rogue, and she couldn't imagine seeing the kind of exclusive bar Remy had described located in such a dumpy area. But Remy was adamant about getting the address right. So, they'd both changed in the bathroom of a gas station. He was playing the part of a mobster, equal parts Al Capone, Frank Sinatra, and some silver screen movie star. His costume fitted him well, and he did look rather dashing, and debonair, in the suit. Especially with the fedora on.

"It's a speakeasy," Remy explained. "Y' gotta fit in wit' da theme. Y' are a flapper t'night. A really sexy one, by da way."

"Shut up," she said, glaring at him.

"You da bees knees."

"Whatever."

"Da berries, _Chere_."

"Ah get yoah point."

"Da doll wit' da best get-a-way sticks dis side o' New York."

"_Remy_." She sighed. "Enough."

He nodded, looking like she'd burst his bubble. But then he added, "What's say you an' me blow dis Popsicle stand an' find ourselves a struggle-buggy we were could have a real adventure?" He ducked when she swung her hand out to slap him upside the head. She ended up hitting his hat instead, and damn it all if he didn't look better with it tilted down over part of his face.

"Can we find th' place now?" Rogue asked.

"It'll be easy. It's right across da street." He pointed to a set of buildings nearby; Rogue thought he'd lost it. There was nothing there but stores and houses that looked like they should've been condemned when Kennedy was elected president.

"Remy… you sure 'bout this?"

He squeezed her hand and started pulling her in the direction he'd indicated. "O' course."

Her feet resisted. "Ah dunno."

"Look, we're already here, right? So we might as well look at it. An' if we get inside an' y' still aren't completely enchanted wit' da place, we'll leave."

"Well… okay."

When they made it across the road, Remy headed for what seemed like the worst place of all; it was a small wonder that the building was even able to keep its shape. There was a wooden door on one side, and that's where Remy approached. He knocked on the door once, and then turned back to give Rogue a reassuring one last smile. "Trust me, _Chere_, you'll love dis place."

"Sure," she responded, a bit sarcastically, but her curiosity was piqued when the small square on the door was pulled away, revealing an opening. There was a man on the other side; she could see his cracked, crooked lips and wispy, white whiskers.

"What does Mama like on her sandwich?" He asked in a low voice.

Before Rogue could comment on the absurdity and strangeness of the question, Remy leaned in and answered, "Turkey an' Pickles." There was a pause, and the whole door was pulled open, revealing a suited man with a mouth Rogue had already become too acquainted with.

"Come in." The man commanded. They followed inside the building, which proved to be just as rundown and seedy-looking as Rogue had expected. The walls, or what was left of them, were yellowed and streaked with dirt, and the wooden floor creaked and moaned with each of their steps, as if suggesting it would rather collapse into a pile of broken planks than support the weight of one more person.

"Isn't dis great?" Remy told her, as they kept moving towards the wall farthest from the door.

"It's… the berries," She sighed, watching the suited man, who had reached the wall before them, and began readjusting the few picture-less frames that were hanging from it. All of a sudden, the walls began to moan, like the floor, only louder, and for a brief second, Rogue thought the entire building was going to fall down around her; but, only the one wall moved, exposing a passageway. The man gestured to it.

"Enjoy your time here at _Sandrine's_." He said, smiling for the first time. Remy tipped his fedora, before taking Rogue's arm and leading her through the passageway.

The other side was a whole other world.

* * *

Remy thought: MasterCard was right –some things were priceless, like a baby's cry, a child's laughter, the sight of a sunrise over snowy mountains… and the look of astonishment that painted Rogue's face as they stepped into the elusive _Sandrine's_. Her jaw dropped as she soaked in the her surroundings; the bar, with its long black countertop and ruby stools, the tables scattered sporadically across the floor, and band playing a slow, but catchy tune.

He smiled. A friend had invited him to _Sandrine's_ once, and the atmosphere had seduced him, too. It was such an unusual place…

"Ah can't believe it." Rogue exclaimed, at last finding her voice.

"C'mon, _Chere_, let's sit at da counter." He helped her to a seat, and then slid easily onto the next stool, signaling the bartender for a few drinks. "I was gon' take you t' a regular restaurant," he explained as their waited, "but once you suggested we up da bet an' extend it t' clothes, I knew _Sandrine's_ was da place fo' us."

"Do ya come here often?" She wondered. He shook his head. In truth, reservations were needed to enjoy the wonders of the bar, and most people would have better luck catching a shark with a water bottle than getting in. Even for him, with a network of friends and acquaintances that stretched out across the world, it had been a challenge to gain entrance on such a short notice.

"Is Sandrine a real person?" Rogue asked.

"She is." Remy smiled. "She comes out sometimes t' bartend. She's nice, but fierce. Dat woman'll chop off y' hand if she catches y' stealin'."

"Why do Ah get th' feelin' you learned that th' hard way?" He laughed, but she was right. He'd pocketed a few dollars from his fellow customers once, and the woman had caught a hold of him and yanked him over the counter, demanding he return what he'd taken. He hadn't lost a limb, exactly, but the encounter had left him with bruises on his arm and his ego. Remy recounted this Rogue, who found it amusing. "She sounds like mah kinda woman," Rogue said.

"You an' her would probably get along."

Their drinks arrived, and Rogue took hers, but studied it carefully. "What is this, anyway? Ah can't drink nothin' that'll stay on m' breath, 'else everyone will get suspicious,"

"It's a Special. Don't worry. Typically, they only sell gin an' stuff here –it is a speakeasy- but dis is just a flavored soda. You'll be fine."

"Ex_cuse_ me, Missssss."

They turned around to see a man, dressed as a Flaming Youth despite his obvious older age. "Ithinkthat'smydrink." He slurred, pointing somewhere between Rogue and Remy's glasses.

"Honey, leave 'em alone." A lady, who looked to be the same age as the man, grabbed his shoulder, "They're having fun. They don't want some old ossified man barging in on them."

He frowned. "Are you suggesting I'm spiffilina… spifffley…spiff…spoff... drunk?"

"Yeah, now come on." She smiled weakly at the teenagers. "Sorry. He's had a few too many drinks. The way he guzzles here, you'd think Prohibition was still in effect. Hon, get away from the kids!" The woman pulled at his collar, until the man stumbled backwards, and she was able to guide him towards their table.

When they'd left, Rogue turned to Remy, a wide smile across her face. "Ain't that sweet," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic again, or sentimental. "Are you gonna make yoah wife wrestle you away from kids when yoah old an' drunk?"

"I won't be gettin' old," Remy confided. "I plan on bein' twenty somet'in' fo' da rest o' m' life."

"Ain't that a lofty goal?"

He nodded. "But what's da alternative? Getting' old an' dying. It's better t' have extremely high expectations than none at all."

She took a slow drink and seemed to digest his words. "Ah'd like ta learn ta speak ev'ry language in th' world. It'd be so nice ta travel all around an' never be hindered by somethin' like proper wordin' or pronunciation."

He rose up his glass. "I'll drink t' dat."

She joined him, declaring, "To th' unlikely."

"An' t' us," he added.

As they glasses clinked, she gave him a smile, asking, "Is there a difference?"

* * *

The scenery was beautiful, all glossy green leaves, rosy red apples, and unnaturally soft grass. The sun beamed down, but it was warm, like Heaven smiling. Jean Grey leaned back into the grass, feeling very much at peace. "This is wonderful, Scott. I can't believe you designed this for me. And to think, people laugh when I say you're one of the most romantic guys I know."

"They laugh?" Scott said, feeling mildly offended.

"Hysterically."

Scott had been reclined on the grass beside Jean, but now he propped himself up on an elbow and frowned. "I can be romantic."

"I know."

"I buy flowers." He reminded her, "And candy."

"You're preaching to the choir," Jean sighed, wishing suddenly that she hadn't brought up the subject. "And besides, who cares what anyone else thinks?"

"Not me." Scott said. Then he added, "But I _can_ be romantic."

"Scott, I know. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"I won't." He answered. He let his eyes wander to the sky, where they encountered clouds –the snowy white kind, that looked like pieces of cotton candy, or lumps of frosting suspended in the air. Jean felt his mind beginning to relax again, and she closed her eyes… until Scott sat up, abruptly. "This isn't the only programmed I made for you," he informed her, "and if you want romantic, the other one is definitely the way to go. It's much better than this one and almost finished. I just wanted to add a few… romantic touches."

Jean groaned. Sometimes, the things that made Scott a great leader were the same things that made her want to bash his head in like a it was a pumpkin in front of a house that didn't pass out Halloween candy.

He frowned. "You're projecting into my mind again."

"I know. Show me the simulation."

"If you'd rather wait, we can do this some other time."

"Scott, you and I both know that you're trying to convince yourself that you can be a good boyfriend. You're not so open and society-driven as to care what everyone else says. The only way you're going to do that is to show me the other simulation, which you know is well programmed, so that I can gush and we can get on with our date. Which, by the way, is rapidly declining in romanticness."

"I don't think romanticness is a word."

"_Scott_."

With a resigned sigh, Scott accessed the controls and the world around them faded and vanished, like a dream meeting the dawn. Jean sat up and waited while Scott issued the commands. That's when the clown appeared.

At first, it was just two red, giant shoes attached to baggy pants. Then came the matching, polka-dotted torso, followed by long arms and a stubby neck, and finally came the appearance of a head, face painted white, hair red and curly. It grinned, almost cruelly, at the pair.

"Scott, we need to have a talk about this," she said, though even as the words left her mouth she sensed his confusion; he hadn't put it there. She thought maybe it was a prank, one of the other students messing with their too-strict leader…but then the clown spoke.

"_You think you're smart, but you're not! I know you're secretest secret. So na na nah na na_."

* * *

That they danced well together was really no kind of shock to Remy. After all, he'd learned the art years before and even in walking she had the quiet grace that always adapted well to the dance floor. Rogue, likewise, seemed unimpressed by their abilities, perhaps because she recalled their smooth steps in Jacksonville and expected no less; and so, it was the rest of Sandrine's crowd –drinkers, musicians, and fellow dancers- who carried the burden of being delighted and slightly amazed at the young couple moving so well together.

At first, Remy had worried at the attention, especially the way the crowd had formed a loose semi-circle around them, for he knew Rogue had an aversion to large groups of people, and with good reason; he didn't want her feeling anxious or on edge. But, surprisingly, his dancing partner was neither. He liked to think it was because she'd completely lost herself in his arms, and was so swept up in him that she could think of nothing else, but that was probably a stretch of the truth longer than the highway. Still, the thought was a smile-inducing one.

Seeing him, Rogue observed, "Ya look happy."

"Why shouldn't I? I'm dancin' wit' da prettiest girl around. I'm only feet away from a practically unlimited supply o' bourbon, an' I get t' wear a fedora," he said, tapping the brim of his hat. "Dis is my heaven."

"All ya could ever wish for?"

He took a long, appreciative glance at her, leering a bit. "Well, almost."

"Ugh," she said, "The male mind is a disgustin' place. Every now an' then, ya think you've found a clean spot worth examinin', but it always turns out you were wrong."

"Da ladies always say dat," he noted, "but they crave our attention an' affection anyway. Why do y' t'ink dat is, _Chere_? Could it be because despite their lovely surface an' charmin' sense o' decorum, they secretly have disgustin' minds, too? Maybe even mo' so n' ours, 'cause they've repressed themselves so long."

"No." Rogue answered, while the song ended and the band took a moment to regroup. The crowd around them dispersed a little, returning to the counter to replenish their drinks, granting the teenagers some degree of privacy. Rogue watched them go and then turned back to Remy. "An' Ah don't crave a thing from you, _Sugah_."

"Sugah," Remy repeated, mimicking her accent. "Where'd that come from?"

"Ah don't even know. Although, back in Caldecott, m' teacher used ta say that all the time. Drove me nuts. Sugah, put down that pen an' go out ta recess already. Seats are for sittin', Sugah, not for standin'. C'mon, Sugah pull out yoah homework so's Ah don't have ta fail ya. Ah think she's the whole reason Ah developed a mistrust o' authority."

"Mebbe yo' subconscious is tryin' t' drive me crazy, too. But didn't y' know? I already am." He leaned in towards her. "Crazy 'bout you."

"That's th' corniest thing Ah ever heard."

He laughed in open acknowledgement. Somewhere along the line, he developed a hobby for collecting awful pick up lines. Using them with girls was like juggling single-handedly; they were a handicap, to be sure, but if he could deliver them in just the right way, it would make him seem all the more amazing. And, he hadn't failed yet.

Finally, the band began again. This time, they adopted a slower tune, and Remy used that as an excuse to pull Rogue closer to him.

"Remy," Rogue said softly. "Say somethin' serious."

"What?"

"You're always kiddin'. But Ah know you've got a somber side; Ah've seen it before. Ah'd like ta see it again. Say somethin' serious."

"Like what?"

"Ah don't know." She sighed. "Anythin'."

"Okay." He answered, frowning. Serious? Why would she ask that? Unless, he thought to himself, what she really wanted was for him to be sincere. Sighing, he wondered if maybe, he could ask her the question that had been nagging him for several days. Would she know the answer? Deciding to take the chance, he asked, "Roguey, how are we gonna know if dis experiment worked? At what point do we shake hands an' call it a day, o' embrace an' call it love?"

It was her turn to sound surprised. "What?" She said, looking up sharply.

"Let's be perfectly honest, non? We didn't set dis up t' see if we could be just friends. We wanted t' see if we would fall in love again, right? An' if it'd last us."

"Yeah."

"So, how are we gonna know when it's either gonna work o' not? O' do we just keep meetin' in secret for da rest o' our lives, never findin' th' answer."

He expected her to pull away. But instead, she buried her face in his shirt and groaned. "You're askin' me?" She mumbled, and the words tickled his chest.

"_Oui_."

"What kind o' question is that?"

"A logical one, _Chere_."

She lifted her head, and her eyes were almost grey in the light. "Ah've been wonderin', too," she confessed, "An' the best answer Ah can come up with is…"

"Yes?"

"Well," she sighed. "You remember Jacksonville?"

"Vividly."

"Ah was really taken with you then, Remy. When we kissed, Ah was floatin'. Flyin'. Ah felt like everythin' in me was full."

"I know what y' mean." He said.

"Ever since we started this, it's been fun. Ah feel good. Great, even. You're funny, charmin', good-lookin', and almost too creative. But, ta be perfectly honest, Ah haven't felt that same rush. Ah doubt you have, too."

"Well, I haven't kissed you_, Chere_."

"Ah know," she sighed again. "But that's the point. We don't know how long it's gonna take for me ta gain control o' my powers. So if it really is love, we're gonna have ta rediscover that feelin', but we gotta do it without touch."

He smiled, trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry 'bout it. In no time, we'll be so deep in love, we'll be drownin' in it."

"Ah'm sure," she said, rolling her eyes.

"It's true."

"Ah'll bet."

"I've never been wrong, River Rat, but if you'd like ta make it a wager, I won't stop y'."

"Remy, Ah'm standin' in front o' you, wearin' a flapper's dress an' shoes that went outta style eighty years ago. You really think Ah'm up for another bet?"

He grinned, mischieviously. "Ten bucks an' a bottle o' bourbon says we'll be two crazy kids in love by dis time next month."

"Make it twenty, an' Ah'll say that it ain't happenin' 'til September."

* * *

**Later…**

Moonlight rained down on her as she stood outside the mansion's front door and hunted through her jacket's pockets for the key. Exhaustion was weighing down her eyelids, and no small measure of confusion was filling all the space inside her head; the meeting with Remy had been fun. When she'd been with him, she'd smiled like an idiot too much of the time. But the minute she'd been on her own, all the troubles had come crashing back, like a river that refused to be contained.

He was asking _her_ questions about where and when they'd realize it was love? He asked _her_ what they were supposed to do about everyone else? Like she had any answers. She'd given him the best response she had in her: that they'd just know, because everything they felt inside that day in Jacksonville would come rising to the surface of their being, proving that the day hadn't been a fluke. But what did she know?

_Nothing_, someone said. And she agreed.

She finally found her key, and sighing, pushed it into the lock, thinking of her bed and how nice it would be if she could collapse into it's warm folds, letting sleep carry her far from Bayville and Remy and all of her uncertainties. But as she opened the door, she got the faint, uneasy feeling that something was wrong. It took her a moment to pinpoint the problem, but it came to her soon enough: _there was no sound_. She lived in a mansion full of people, loud people, and there was always music, or laughter, or high-pitched chatter, or video games played at too high a volume. Yet, as she stepped inside the mansion, an ominous wall of silence greeted her.

"Hello?" She called out, hoping that there was a perfectly normal, fine reason for the change, and that someone would peek there head around the a corner and explain the situation.

She was answered, but not by any body. Instead, Xavier's voice came into her head. _Rogue,_ he said, _You're home._

"Where is everyone?"

He paused in a way that was never good, like he was taking the time to say the words to himself, ensuring that they came out in just the right and appropriate way. Finally, he said, _We're down in the infirmary._

"Everybody? Why?"

Again, the professor hesitated, before saying, _I'm sending Kurt to bring you here…its Kitty, Rogue. I'm afraid she isn't well._

_Not well._ Rogue sucked in her breath, considering the last time she'd heard him say that. She'd been laying on the flat bed in the infirmary herself, barely conscious, with Dr. McCoy, the professor, and Logan standing around her. She's not well, Xavier had said to Logan. It was the professor's favorite euphemism. Forgetting herself, she sank down on the couch, and it was there that Kurt found her when he bamped into the room.

He didn't speak right away, but there was clear worry in his yellow, shinning eyes. "Let's go," he said, holding out his arm for her to grasp.

"What happened Kurt? What happened to Kitty?"

"She's in a coma. She sustained heavy injury after a training session with Carol went bad."

"With Carol?" Rogue said. "How?"

"You know how people are always saying, 'I don't know my own strength?'"

"Yeah."

"Vell, it turns out Carol really doesn't. She accidentally pushed Kitty into ze wall… really, really hard. Mr. McCoy says it isn't zat bad, but he doesn't know when she's gonna wake up. Everyone else is confined to their rooms for ze night, except me and Carol. Ve're staying with Kitty."

"Why th' confinement?"

"He wanted to put a cap on zis day. It's been a bad day," Kurt sighed. "Kitty's accident was ze worst, but also, there vas ze hologram Jean and Scott found earlier zis afternoon: it suggested zat our Mr. Clark secret may not be as secret as ve thought."

Rogue opened her mouth to speak, but shut it. Instead, she accepted Kurt's offered arm. "Let's go see Kitty."

* * *

**General notes**:

1) A bit of history. If you have little knowledge of American history, I may owe you an explanation. So, here's Eileen's Guide to Prohibition in America (or, Why The Gov't Will Never Try To Take Away Our Right To Get Drunk Again). In 1920, the 18th amendment to the US Constitution prohibited alcohol in the United States –you couldn't buy, it, sell it, bathe in it, etc. So started the period of time known as 'Prohibition'. It was a failure, naturally. Alcohol sales went way up. Speakeasies were born –secret bars where you had to 'speak easy' to get in. Often, excessive measures were taken to keep the police away; bribes were extremely common, as were little gadgets and secret buttons that hid the gin and wiped the table in the same swift motion. Press a button, and poof! All the whiskey was gone, replaced with little gallons of healthy and perfectly legal milk. The amendment was eventually repealed, and speakeasies lost their customers.

I used the Internet for 1920's slang. Blame it if I used the words incorrectly.

2) Sorry it took a month, but hey…at least it wasn't a year!

**Individual Responses**:

**Rogue4787**: Yay! you won. And you suggested a jazzy bar. I took your idea and ran with it. Perhaps a bit too far, but I couldn't resist the chance to give Remy a fedora. I'm glad you came back and decided to keep reviewing! Thank you!

**Ishandahalf**: You're very full of guesses, aren't you? I'd like to confirm or refute them, but… I won't. There was no cool message from Remy this time, but he (and frankly, me) needs a break. Either that, or I was feeling lazy. Yet another question you won't have the answer to! HA HA HA! (I need sleep). The mini-golf thing sounds interesting, and I'm considering it in a later chapter, so we'll see. J Thanks for the review (and the gold stars, I've got a collection on my wall and it's so pretty to look at!) Oh, and do you know how long it's been since I've heard the phrase 'quick like a bunny on crack'? Too long!

**Pomegranate Queen**: Well, you rock, 'cause you reviewed! Thanks!

**Goddess Evie**: I don't usually listen to country music either, but over the summer I got way bored, and I started watching CMT for a chance to see the fake Johnny Depp, and the next thing you know, I'm singing along. J Plus, Jimmy Buffet always did sound good. I mean, doesn't everyone love Margaritaville? I know I do. I'm glad Kitty wasn't two-dimensional. Especially since I've put her in a coma now. Oh, and of course, I'll give you a Remy clone when I'm finished. You're such an awesome review, how could I not?

**Silky Black**: How do you know something super bad will happen to Carol? I'm trying (oh, so hard) to play nice with her. Then again, you never know if my resolve'll wear off and I'll 'accidentally' kill her. But people in comic books never stay dead long anyway, right? Thanks for the review!

**Plague-darkholme**: I like you're name. It sounds like a fanfiction waiting to be written J Thanks for the review (and please don't kill me!).

**EmeraldKkatsEye:** I knew people would cheat, but I was just trying to get my reviewers back. I'm that sad, pathetic person who hands out presents so people'll be my friend. Was Remy serious? Well… he's a survivor, let's just say that. Thanks for the review!

**Totally Obsessed, Michelleperson**: Thanks a bunch for the review! Come again, please?

**Your worshipfulness**: It'd never work out. Trust me. I'm forever devoted to two-dimensional comic book characters like Remy LeBeau and Darien Shields. Anywho, thanks for the review (hey, that rhymes)! Come again, review again!

**Spunkypippy**: Thank you!

**Sailor Vamp**: A graveyard? That sounds… intriguing. And, possibly, a little demented. Which, of course, makes me love the suggestion all the more. Thanks for reviewing!

**xpoisonedxangelx**: You people and your ideas! I'm determined to surprise you! Thanks for the review!

**Gaea3**: I missed you! Thanks for reviewing! And I know what it's like to be without the Internet, and I know that it really stinks. So, here's hoping you won't have any more problems! Hope you liked this chapter!

BTW, does anyone know why I can't leave my email? Every time I try, it disappears in the posting. V. odd. Stay tuned for next time. We'll find out whom the new villain is, how Kit's is doing, and have more Romy fun! Review! Please?

Last minute plug: I'm updating An American Trilogy in like, two days… so, last chance to read it before you fall two chapters behind!

Coconuts, Comments, Questions? I'm… well, you know where.


	7. Seven

**AN: **Hiya! Quick note: there's been a little bit of mix-up (my mistake) over whether they met at a bus station or a train station. It should be a bus station. From here on out, it's the bus stations that are significant. K? Also...um, review please? (PLEASE?!?)

**We've Met Before:**

**Chapter Seven**

"Ya can't blame y'self," Rogue said, as she leaned her mass against a tall, white pillar and stared out at the open field of emerald grass before her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carol Danvers take one step down the porch stairs, so much of her blonde hair billowing out in the wind like the sail of a ship.

"I know," Carol said, quietly, not sounding anywhere near convincing. Not that Rogue could blame her. As someone who'd been in her position, she knew exactly how useless and hollow the words 'it's not your fault' were. And it made her wonder why, exactly, she'd been put in charge of helping Carol –sure, she'd been through the same experience, but had she coped in a healthy, productive way? No, she'd crammed all her troubles as deep down as they would go until finally they came spurting up like an angry volcano. Was that what they hoped for Carol, too?

Annoyed with herself, Rogue abandoned her preplanned speeches and, stuffing her hands into her pockets, sighed. "It kind of sucks, doesn't it?" She looked down, away. "Ah'm not exactly Dr. Phil here."

"It's not you. You're fine. It's me." Carol pursed her lips. "_I'm_ the problem."

"Why do Ah feel like Ah'm gettin' dumped?" Rogue asked, dryly.

For the first time, Carol smiled a little and giggled, albeit briefly. "It never would've worked. We're two different people, in different places in our lives." She paused, putting up a hand to keep the sun from her eyes as she followed Rogue's gaze outward. When she spoke again, the amusement had drained from her voice. "They say Kitty's going to be fine. She just needs time. I guess that's all I need, too."

Rogue nodded. "Good plan. Better 'n mine."

"Which was?"

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Toss ya into th' river. If ya sink, it'd be 'cause ya couldn't keep th' misplaced guilt from weighin' ya down."

Carol rolled her eyes and turned back to the mansion. "Jeez, you really aren't Dr. Phil. Maybe you shouldn't choose a career in psychology."

"Oh, darn."

"Listen, I'm going back in and see Kitty again. Coming?"

Rogue sighed. "In a minute." And alone, she walked out into the open sun.

It had been three days since she'd come home to find Kitty in a coma. Three days since she'd last seen Remy LeBeau, the memory of whose smile had become a sudden and now missed comfort. Approximately eight extensive danger room sessions since Cyclops had said they needed to step up their training now that the enemy –faceless and confusing as it was- had invaded their supposed sanctuary. And somewhere around thirty minutes since the second blue envelope had found it's way into Rogue's hands. But what did that mean? What good were numbers?

They didn't explain how life at the mansion had become lonely and drab without Kitty scaring people with her cooking, or bugging Rogue about socializing more, or sobbing loudly as the credits of a tearjerker played out on the television screen. They didn't elucidate how it was that Rogue so quickly was beginning to consider Remy not just a friend, but someone she really needed, and someone she thought of at regular and rapid intervals. They didn't clarify how much work Scott Summers was suddenly putting in to ensure the X-Men safety and success, and how his dedication had raised him a little more in her esteem.

And, numbers couldn't come close to showing how much she wanted to shove the second envelope down Mystique's throat like it was flu medication, and the shape-shifter was a reluctant, bratty, ill child. Rogue had never really considered herself close to the other X-Men; she didn't think she bonded with them as much as they imagined. They were just friends who supported each other because by doing so, they were supporting the cause as a whole. But day-by-day, her perception was beginning to change. Maybe they were more than that. Maybe they were family, after all, in which case she didn't need the Betrayers.

She didn't want them, anyway.

What she did want was a little more control over the way things were going.

Above her head, she heard the sound of a plane, loud, probably landing. It didn't catch her by surprise, for Mr. Clark had flown quite a few things in and out of the mansion since his stay had begun. She didn't see him much; he usually stayed holed in the laboratory, talking theory and literature with Hank McCoy, all the while working hard to figure out when it'd be safe for him to return to his own life.

At first, Rogue had thought it a horrible scenario: having to leave behind a house, a job, and a life, all for the sake of protecting a few documents that _maybe, might, could_ be dangerous. But then she thought about herself, and how she'd done something close to that after the situation with Cody. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that walking away for a while wasn't so bad sometimes. It hurt, but brought things to light that had formerly lived in darkness.

She sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the second envelope. She'd bury it, and her dependence on the Betrayers with it_. Good_, the voices decided, for once mostly agreeing with each other. But just as she started to dig a small hole in the dirt with the tip of her shoe, Amara came rushing up from around the corner of the house, breathless and excited, followed by a stranger.

"Rogue!" the young mutant girl cried. She looked at the stranger and pointed to Rogue. "This is her. She's the winner!"

Rogue frowned. "Winner? What's goin' on?"

The stranger –in actuality, a brunette with clear gray eyes, a blue-and-white checkered suit, and a nametag that read: Hi! I'm Becky Something Unintelligible- extended a hand and smiled broadly. Maybe too broadly, because it stretched the corners of her mouth like she wasn't used to being quite that happy. "Hello, are you Rogue?"

"Ah am."

Becky Somebody extended a hand. "That's wonderful! I'm here as a representative of Avian Aviations, the leading flight school in Bayville and most of New York and I have the extreme and wonderful pleasure of telling you that you have won our Fly To The Moon contest, and are guaranteed a thrilling and exciting flight to the destination of your choice this very day."

Her words were slick and smooth, the territory of used cars salesmen and politicians before her. Rogue wasn't so quick in accepting her offered hand.

"Ah didn't enter any contest," she said. "Must be a mistake."

"No." Becky shook her head vigorously. "I'm quite sure. Rogue Darkholme, winner of the Fly To The Moon contest, you cannot back out now! Maybe if I show you the plane you'll remember thing's clearer, come on." Rogue followed, not so much because she wanted to, but because Becky had planted a firm hold on her arm and was nearly dragging her along. The brunette waved bye at Amara, clearly indicating that the younger girl shouldn't follow.

_Strange_, Rogue thought. _An' annoyin'._

But, around the corner, things changed considerably.

First, the strained smile fell like dried flowers from Becky Somebody's mouth. She wrinkled her nose as they advanced to the plane. "Sorry," she offered in the way of an explanation. "I'm a pilot, not an actress. Lying makes me nervous."

Then they actually reached the vehicle, sitting calmly on the launching pad. Across it, in blazing gold letters read: _The Fortune_. As Rogue neared it, she reached out to skim her hand across the shinning, stunning surface. "This is th' plane?"

"Mmmhmm. The _Fortune_ is my baby. She is the prettiest plane this side of Bayville. Jealous?" The girl jumped up into the pilot's seat and sighed, a more natural smile gracing her lips. "Aw, who am I kidding? You've got Remy for your baby, now _there's_ something to be jealous of."

Rogue, who was used to being cautious of anything Remy-related while on X-Men grounds, glanced around quickly, making sure no one had been around to hear his name mentioned. "Remy sent ya?" She said, after a minute.

"Yes, he did. So if you'll just hop in, we can fly right to him. He's waiting, even as we speak."

Rogue didn't know what to say. Or whom to say it to. She couldn't exactly tell Becky Somebody that her friend was in a coma and the X-Men were just coping with a serious invasion, and it was a terrible time to go gallivanting off on fun adventures with the enemy, however entertaining he'd probably be; she wasn't about to draw the female pilot into the whole sordid mess. But obviously, the girl was waiting for a response.

"Um, Ah can't-"

"Rogue."

She whipped her head around to see Ororo Munroe. The tall, gracious woman was exiting the mansion with her hands full of a stack of books and papers that looked at least three feet high. Still, she managed to look graceful and concerned, her dark eyes searching. "I just heard Amara say that you've won a prize of some sort?"

"Ah don't plan on goin'." Rogue said, quickly, before more explanations were warranted. She added, "It just won't feel right."

"I thought as much," Ororo said, sighing. "That's precisely why I came to tell you that you must go." She pulled her away from the pilot, and smiled gently, putting all the weight of the books on her right arm so she could pat Rogue's shoulder with the left. "We can all see that this isn't the best time for you. What with Kitty's injury and your mother's frequent solicitation, you must be quite at odds with yourself."

"She isn't m' mother."

"Regardless, you've won some kind of prize and if there's a chance that you might temporarily distract yourself from us, then you should take it."

"Scott won't like it," Rogue reasoned. "He may wanna schedule another session an' Ah'll miss it."

"Scott recognizes the danger of pushing you too hard, too soon. I wouldn't tell you to go if I didn't think you needed the time away, Rogue." She nudged her towards the plane. "Go. Have fun."

"But-"

"Consider it an order, from a senior member of the team." Came the reply.

Rogue didn't take her eye off of Miss Munroe as she went back to Becky's side. And to her credit, the older woman didn't appear to doubt herself and her judgment once. She was sure. Confident. _Must be nice_, Rogue thought, _havin' that much faith_.

Finally, the girl pilot tossed a helmet down to her, and she had to avert her gaze to catch it. Becky smiled. "So, let's get going already."

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

He'd have roses in hand when she finally came sailing into his arms: sad, confused, in need of support. Maybe roses. Maybe not. After all that work, he wouldn't want to come across as being desperate. Not he, a Maximoff. Maximoffs weren't ever desperate; that implied a lack of control.

And did he lack control? No, of course not. Everything was happening exactly as he wanted it to happen. The world was practically spinning in the palm of his hand. Granted, things had been a little off at first, when Gambit showed up, but that was _so_ yesterday's problem.

Soon enough, he'd have completed Operation: Win Rogue Back Over To The Brotherhood of Mutants And Pietro Maximoff's Arms. And if anyone thought that was a long title, it was only because they couldn't say it as fast as it was supposed to be said.

He sat down at a small bench in the bus station, kicking one foot up on the railing of the bench. Someone –a grumpy child being led around by an older, exasperated-looking woman- scowled at him, and he scowled back, but didn't surrender his good mood. After all, this was the very spot where Remy LeBeau's little endeavors in Bayville would begin to unravel.

A soft, hand snuck around his neck, and he looked up, catching a wave of blonde hair in the face. He smiled, recognizing the shampoo scent. "Someone's early."

* * *

"Can we talk about how incredibly romantic what you and Remy are doing is? It's like it belongs in a movie or something, it's so romantic and sweet!" Becky Somebody gushed, as she controlled the plane with the smooth movements of her hands.

"Maybe," Rogue shrugged, not sure she would categorize it quite that way; yes, fate had guided them back to each other in the most improbable way, and their clandestine meetings were almost Shakespearean in nature, nevertheless, there was something decidedly unromantic in the reasoning behind their get-togethers. Would Juliet have stopped things mid-way through, to find out if the Goosebumps on her arm were _really_ caused by Romeo, or just an errant wind? Did Ares and Aphrodite sit down and talk a while, contemplating if their burning lust was worth the risk?

Becky Somebody laughed aloud. "It's amazing. I've met several of Remy's other girls, and I think you're the first who didn't melt into a useless glob at the mention of his name."

"How many o' 'Remy's girls' have ya met?" She asked, not entirely sure she liked the phrase. _What are we_, she thought, _his harem_?

"About five, not including you. Three took flying lessons from me. One I met in passing. One came banging on my door in the middle of the night, mad because I'd dared to touch his hair or something. She was a little crazy, that one. Not very good at letting go of the first decent date she'd had in months, I guess." Becky paused. "And, I guess I could count myself. I dated Remy once or twice."

_Hasn't everyone?_ A cynical voice asked. Rogue said, "It ain't weird then, flyin' other girls out ta meet him?"

"Not really. With me, and with a lot of girls actually, he made it really clear that he wasn't looking to pick out curtains or anything. It was just fun." She grinned. "It wasn't serious like it is with you. I've never seen him care so much about a single date."

_Not a date_, Rogue thought, but didn't say it out loud. It seemed less important somehow, than picturing Remy worrying; did he examine his clothes in a mirror, like Kitty so often did, searching for that one perfect outfit? Did he recite words in the mirror like Scott, hoping they came out just the right way? _No_, she thought, _probably not_.

Becky Somebody started talking again, this time about a topic that didn't interest Rogue very much, the wind/weight ratio or something. The Goth drifted away from her body, floating beyond the clouds to a place time had already visited...a train station in Jacksonville, Mississippi. She hadn't thought of the encounter in the same way since she'd met Remy again. Before, she'd indulged herself in the memory, but now she had to guard herself more carefully. Still, as the plane sailed through the clouds, Rogue wondered if she could indulge just once more...

It occurred to her that she could divide her life into two parts: the time before she'd danced circles in a bus station with Remy LeBeau, and the time after. Her younger self had been unhappy because she didn't fit in. Thirsty for life and all of its experiences. And what an experience Remy LeBeau had been. Charming, considerate, affectionate even to her, a stranger, and a little bit lost himself. How exactly he'd managed to wind up engaged to Belladonna escaped her, and she'd wondered about it for years. He must've loved her at some point, or else he wouldn't have proposed.

Loved her, but not enough to overcome the regular changes that people went through in the course of their lives. _Not enough_, she thought to herself, which was precisely why their 'friendship challenge' so important. Because, with all the hell they'd eventually have to face –admitting to the X-Men that she'd been sneaking with him behind their backs, escaping Magneto's wrath, dealing with Logan and his overbearing, overprotective tendencies- love wasn't going to be enough if they weren't friends, too.

Still... for all her overanalyzing, there was a very strong part of her that didn't care about any of that. A part of her, she thought, that could still feel the heat of his kiss, soft touch of his hand on her face; a part that still melted into a mindless puddle and squealed insanely whenever he spoke. A part that couldn't wait to see him again.

She smiled.

"I'm happy the flight's over, too." She heard Becky say. She blinked, and frowned, realizing that this time, the brunette was staring at her with curious eyes. Staring, as in, not flying the plane.

_Sometimes, ya astound me with yoah astuteness_, Rogue told herself. To Becky, she said, "When did we land?"

"About a ninety seconds ago."

Rogue nodded, looking around. "An' where are we?" She wondered, "A creek?" Around her, there was water and beyond that, wheat fields. Just wheat fields.

"Oh, I don't know what the place is called. It's a river. Obviously not as big as the Mississippi, but when what is?"

"This is where Ah'm meetin' Remy?" Rogue wondered.

"Uh huh." Becky looked around, and then pointed in some direction. "There he is! Remy!" She waved widely.

Bent over, he'd been hidden by the wheat, but at Becky's calling, Remy LeBeau stood up to full height and there was no hiding him once that happened, even if he was dressed in what seemed like his oddest outfit yet: plain clothes. Yes, Remy was wearing old, patched-up jeans and a snug blue t-shirt. If it weren't for the fact that she could see the dark black of his eyes, even with the distance between them, he would've seemed like anyone on the street. Like one of the college students that she passed by, or the guys who always gathered around at the local pizza place to fight out their battles in the arcade.

He advanced towards the plane and looking up, let his eyes go from Becky to Rogue. "Pretty girl's flyin' down from da sky ta visit me?" Remy laughed. "I'm about t' die, ain't I? Dis is Heaven's last gift."

"Please," Rogue said, as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Like Heaven'll be givin' a creep like you anythin' when the time comes. In th' last few seconds o' yoah life, all you'll be feelin' is a risin' flame 'round you."

He looked to Becky, who remained seated in the plane while Rogue began to climb out. "She's impossible, ain't she? It's amazin' she didn't try an' send da plane plummetin' down t' earth. Da girl is cruel an' devious like dat."

Becky shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. There'll be plenty of time for flirting with her once I'm at a safe distance. Let's just make sure you two are settled for now."

Rogue slid down the plane and ended up in Remy's arms as he assisted her to the ground. She could have easily made it herself, but she decided not to complain. This time, she figured, she'd accept the help with a silent, grateful tongue.

"So tell me," she said instead, "what's t'day's plan?"

"Fishin'." He answered, matter-of-factly.

"Fishin'."

"Exactly."

Still in his arms, Rogue looked towards the water. "Fishin'."

* * *

Jean found him in the danger room, studying the list of available programs. Coming up beside him, she wrapped her hands around his waist and planted her chin on his shoulder. "Fine anything useful?"

"Not as much I'd like to find." Scott sighed. "Whoever did this obviously knew something about programming the Danger Room, and knew how to erase the evidence that he or she had been here. But how? Where could someone learn those tricks? They don't exactly teach it at Bayville high."

Jean wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't exactly leave us with many options, does it?"

"At least Xavier's got Mr. Clark calm, now."

"I don't know. I was there right after he found out and he was never very worried."

"Don't you think that's strange?"

"Maybe a little, but then, think of the professor. These older, intelligent types never seem that perturbed, do they?"

"You're going to leave me for someone like that, aren't you?" He joked.

"Like the professor?" She swatted his shoulder. "He's like a second father, Scott. Eew."

* * *

There was something wrong with her, he could tell. He wished he could see it plainly –maybe the twinkle in her eye had faded a bit, or her shoulders sagged just a hint, as if burdened by a new weight, but she was too good to give away clues like that, and so he had to judge on instinct alone.

His instinct told him something was wrong.

"_Chere_, mebbe y' better sit down. We don't want y' tippin' da boat over, non?" Remy called out to Rogue, going so far as to nudge her back with the end of his fishing pole, but she ignored him while she stood at the edge of the small boat and stared over into the water. She watched as their movement made tiny ripples in the blue-brown water, and sighed softly.

"It's calmin'," she told him. "Sort o' reminds me o' sleepin' on a waterbed."

He tilted his head. "Y' always end up thinkin' o' beds when I'm around, _Chere_? Mebbe yo' subconscious is tryin' t' tell you somet'in'."

She peered over her shoulder and glared. "What's it sayin'? Kill the Cajun an' stuff his dirty, rottin' body under a mattress?"

"Oh, harsh words," he sighed, grinning anyway. He patted her seat and implored her with a pout. "C'mon, _Beb_, y' makin' me feel like a ancient hero carryin' his prize back t' his home shore while da forlorn girl stares longin'ly towards da land o' her people an' t'inks o' better times."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Are you suggestin' ya feel like Ah'm yo' slave, won through war an' bound by a lack o' free will ta serve yoah every need?"

Remy laughed. "Exactly. Now have a seat so's we can return t' present times, where yo' just a girl whose out in da middle o' dis lake wit' da best lookin' fisherman ever."

"You know, yoah pretty lucky."

"Because I got you?" He guessed.

"Well, that goes without sayin'. But, it ain't what Ah meant." She moved towards Remy, folding her arms as she sat. The wind toyed with her hair as if it were exploring its texture, blowing it straight up like she'd been shocked, only to drop it down in her face and across her eyes seconds later. "Ah was thinkin', if you ever find y'self on a deserted island without food, ya could survive off o' that ego for years. Or, ride it back ta civilization like a giant balloon. It's big enough."

Like five-year-old child, he stuck out his tongue in immature response.

"Aw, don't tease," she cooed back.

Remy opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a tug on his line intervened. Switching his attention from her to the line, he drew the reel closer to his chest and began to pull the fish in. It was strong, big, but it couldn't fight the Cajun and his able hands long. Soon he was lifting it from the water by the tail. "Roguey, gimme da ice chest."

As she did just that, he heard her say, "Poor little fish."

"T'ought y' said y' liked fishin'." He said, curious.

"Ah do. It's just, sometimes Ah feel bad for 'em. One minute they're swimmin' free an' the next, they're chokin' on hooks an' drownin' on air. It ain't exactly a pretty way t' go."

He held up his prey. "Y' want me t' toss it back in?"

She smiled. "If Ah said yes, would ya?"

"I would," he consented. "But mebbe y' better hurry up an' decide 'fore a grim reaper o' fishies come t' claim him."

"Then toss it back."

He obeyed, setting the creature down into the waters. Quickly realizing it had been given a second chance at life, it jerked away from his hands and retreated down into the darker depths of the river. Remy sighed, fingering the empty fishing pole.

"Ah'm sorry if Ah'm bad company t'day," Rogue said.

"Never," Remy quickly countered.

"Still, Ah'm in a weird mood. On th' one hand, it's great seein' you again. There's no one at home who has such a mastery o' cheap tricks, sappy one-liners, an' cocky grins. But... well, you'll prob'ly hear about it from Lance, anyway. M' friend, Kitty, is kind o' sick an' it's hard havin' fun while she's not even conscious."

So _that_ was why she didn't seem entirely herself. Or maybe, he thought, she was more herself, having found that many of her barriers were too hard to keep up during a time of crisis. Now that he considered it, the beautiful, slightly forlorn Rogue before him was probably the closest version to the original girl he'd met. He reached out and took her hand, smiling brightly for her. "I'm glad y' decided t' come anyway, Roguey. 'Cause if y' just came to me when life was sweet, then there'd never be any challenge t' dis, _non_?"

"Ah guess."

"Ah' whatever happened t' yo' friend, I know it prob'ly scares you, t'inkin' dat people y' care about could be taken away so suddenly –believe me, I know. When I was younger, m' brother accidentally got caught up in a gunfight an' had a bullet shot straight through his chest. Don't ask me how he survived. All I knew is, I never prayed so hard an' listened to da nuns as much as durin' dat time. Watchin' him wake up gave m' courage. Like, mebbe, a little big o' magic did exist, an' it was protectin' me an' him."

"That's sweet," she sighed. "But magic isn't gonna heal her broken bones. Only medicine an' time can do that."

"Okay, lil' Miss Dis Cup Is Half Empty."

"Ah'm not bein' pessimistic!" Rogue insisted. "Ah happen ta think th' medicine she's gettin' is awfully effective."

"But I'll bet her spirit is even more so," Remy countered, brushing away her bangs. Her faced flushed, and he grinned again. "Y' know what you need? Another cheap trick. Watch dis."

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a single card: the Jack of Spades, one of his favorites. Holding it in her vision, he lighted it just enough to dissolve the corners, giving it the shape of a heart. Then, carefully, he lit the bottom so that the whole card was propelled out of his hands, sailing up like a rocket into the sky.

She didn't take her eyes off of it until it the entire thing burst into sparks. "If y'all learned how ta do that," she remarked, "Ya got way too much time on yoah hands."

"Naw," he said, rejecting the idea. "Truth is, I keep Pyro off m' back by doin' somet'in' like dat an' den darin' him t' repeat it. He huffs an' puffs an' never gets any closer t' matchin' m' skill. M' only regret is how many decks o' cards he burns up, tryin'."

"Ah might've guessed," she sighed. "It's an awful pretty trick."

"Almost magic," he teased.

"Yeah. Ah guess it is."

"You do a whole lot o' guessin'. Ain't you ever sure 'bout nothin'?"

She frowned at him, as if he'd touched on a sore spot. But she didn't answer either, and he thought: what if she really wasn't sure about anything? Not even her answer to that question. Sighing inwardly, he took her hand again and intertwined their fingers. "Listen, _Chere_, if y' ever lookin' t' take a leap o' faith an' just trust in somet'in', you can always make me –us- y' cause. Whatever we got, be it love o' just friendship, it's real."

Rogue had been staring at their hands intently, but as he finished, she looked up. She studied him, staring at the top of his head and slowly working her way down to his black eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin. She looked back at his eyes then, and her lips stretched out into a wide, brilliant smile. She ducked her head, as if to hide her sudden attack of happiness. Her voice was light, whispery.

"Ah think Ah know that, Remy. Thank you."

Suddenly, there was the sound of an approaching plane. Looking up, Remy saw Becky Wilson bringing _The Fortune _down to the designated landing spot. He waved and reached for the oar. The date was over.

* * *

**Fifteen Minutes Later...**

Saying she was 'giddy' wasn't quite right. Giddy meant something else –it was the kind of thrill that struck suddenly, making everything else seem like a vague and distant world. It was a kind of joy that felt like a thousand jitters and made the sound come bubbling up her throat in happy giggles.

Rogue wasn't giddy. Though she was quite a distance from the floor, her feet were very much planted on the ground. The world was still real and troubled. She still had to deal with Kitty getting better and Mystique getting more bothersome.

She wasn't jubilant. She wouldn't return home and light firecrackers in the backyard in celebration of having rediscovered the Remy LeBeau of her dreams. No sudden urge to sing out seized her, no great feeling of triumph ran through her.

The Remy deal hadn't been about winning the way board games and sport tournaments were. She wasn't trying to beat out someone else.

Rogue thought, what she was feeling was more like a very quiet euphoria. Like some had started filling up all the empty places in her heart when she wasn't looking, and suddenly it was very close to overflowing. Like there was a chance Remy had been right with all of his magic talk, and maybe someone was looking out for them all. She leaned her head back and smiled a secret smile.

Her body was flying through the air, but inside, it seemed like she was...

* * *

Floating.

That was the only way that Remy could describe what he was feeling. It was the only word that could convey the light, almost dizzy sensation that ran through his head and pushed down to his toes. It had been a long time since he'd felt that way about a girl before –ages, in fact- but he knew well enough what it meant.

He'd won the bet.

Of course, that meant making the assumption that Rogue was having a similar experience, but he decided to take a leap of faith and keep on running. As he walked through the bus station, bowing slightly to pretty girls who happened to brush up beside him -laughing apologies, batting their eyelashes- he thought: _I don't need 'em_. Not anymore. _Not again_. Remy gave them a cryptic wink and went on his oh, so merry way.

The fact that he was picking up another piece of dead weight didn't bother him in the slightest. He'd managed to evade Magneto's watchful eye before the newbie arrived, and he'd do it after; it'd even be easier, now that he had a true incentive for sneaking out. If anything, Magneto's supposed punishment would increase the air of romance and intrigue. After all, a thief by nature and by trade, Remy thrived under pressure, blossomed with it, like a flower in the sun.

But then, maybe his good mood just made everything seem better, happier, more hopeful, and less complicated. Remy slid into the designated bench, covering a yawn with the side of his brown sleeve. He slouched down, watching the parade of people. On the surface, they didn't differ much: folks with luggage, with whiny children or expensive suits, with coffee-warmed mugs or messy paper maps that couldn't be refolded. But beyond that, he thought, some of them could be halfway through the day that would change their lives. They could look across the clear glass pane and find a face staring back, and destiny would instantly be clear to them. They could be exchanging words in the crowded area, and suddenly find themselves tongue-tied and mesmerized by someone.

It was like he was living his life on the set of a sappy romantic comedy film, and damn it all if he didn't like the idea. Because, Remy reasoned, with Rogue as the star, where could things possibly go wrong?

"_Bon jour, Cher._"

Like a cartoonish anvil, Remy's world came crashing down atop his head.

He craned his neck and met the behind him intruder with an even gaze. "Belladonna," he said, after a moment of awkward silence. "It's been a while. Still killin' people?"

The lovely blonde shrugged, stepping around the bench and coming into Remy's full view. She'd let her hair grow out even more, so that it seemed like a long golden cape that carried down her back. Her eyes were the same: sharp, clever. The sway in her walk still drew the attention of nearby males. As Remy braced himself for the encounter, he thought: as least she hasn't let herself go.

"What?" She said, acting sad when he didn't rise up and accept her offered hug. "No hello fo' da girl ya planned on marryin'?"

"I don't know, _Chere_. Y' hidin' a gun in y' coat?"

Belladonna laughed. "I'd never use a gun on you, Remy."

"Wouldn't be dramatic enough?"

"No. I just seen y' dodge 'em too many times."

"Hmm." Remy pulled to one side of the bench, giving her enough free space to sit. "I always t'ought if Belladonna Bourdreaux ever decided t' come after me herself, I'd be a dead man fo' sure, she knew me so well."

She raised a brow. "Y' t'ink dat's why I'm here now? Because I been holdin' a grudge against y' all dis time an' I finally worked up enough courage t' kill you? Believe me, Remy, if I was gon' kill you 'cause ya left me, I'd have done it a long time ago. I was screamin' mad then, but now... t'ings have fallen back int' perspective."

"Have they?" Remy asked, skeptically.

"I love you, Remy," She said. "No matter how mad I get, it circles back t' dat same fact. Not havin' you in m' life has made livin' awful."

"Still, it's an expected outcome when y' put a bounty over m' head bigger n' da state o' Texas."

She giggled. "I've taken that back," she confessed.

He rolled his eyes and checked his watch. "Look, it's been nice, but if y' not plannin' on murderin' me, an' if y' don't have some kind o' message dat's says you from Magneto, I really don't have time fo' dis. M' new life calls."

"Y' mean dis?" She wondered, pulling a small note, scribbled in Magneto's handwriting. "Eric said I should give it t' you an' you'd know where t' take me."

Remy stared at note. Not in surprise, really, it was just the kind of dirty trick that Magneto would pull. He felt more exasperation than anything else. Belladonna was being sent to live with the Acolytes. With him. He handed her the paper and frowned. "Bella, what do y' expect t' gain wit' dis?"

"Time wit' you."

"But I don't love y' anymore! It's over, me an' you." He decided not to tell her that he'd just recently fallen in love with someone else.

"So y' say, Remy LeBeau. But I've searched months t' find you, all so I could get m' second chance. I'm takin' it, now, regardless o' what you want." She crossed her arms, as if to make it final.

"Second chance?" He cried, standing up. "Last time I saw y', you were playin' darts wit' kitchen knives an' da bull's-eye was m' head. Why should y' get a second chance, now dat I've finally established some semblance o' a life here?"

"Because I always gave you one!" She said, loudly. People stopped and stared, but neither of the Cajuns took note of them. "Ev'ry time y' did somet'in' stupid, ev'ry time I found lipstick on y' collar, hotel keys in y' pocket, perfume on y' coat, strands o' black hair on da clothes I bought y', Remy LeBeau, you'd look sad an' I'd bury m' pride enough t' forgive you. Y' t'ink dat didn't hurt? When y' were away on a job, I spend nights t'inkin' about who you'd pick up on da way, an' how t' hide da truth from m' family, 'cause if they ever knew..."

The blonde looked away, wiping the corner of her eye. "I'm gettin' m' second chance. I deserve it."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. And then, as the crowd started moving again, he said, quietly, "Y' got a suitcase o' somet'ing?"

* * *

**Notes of the General Variety**: Okay, so you all probably knew that Bella was gonna be reintroduced. You know what? I don't care. You know why? Because (ha ha) that was just a clever ruse to distract you from the REAL surprise. So _there_!

**Notes of the Individual Variety**:

**Totally Obsessed**: Because you commanded it, a soon update! Thanks!

**EmeraldKatsEye**: I'd try and explain the survivor bit again, but the first try didn't go so well. And hey, note that this update was significantly sooner than my last update, which was significantly sooner than the update before that. Now explain what I just said back, but I'm confused again... ï 


	8. Eight

* * *

Hiya! This chapter is a weensy bit shorter because it was originally part of the chapter 7 and that was just way too long. So's I cut off and added some stuff and here we are! Read and review! Or else I cry all over my computer and it'll short out and there'll be no more updates for a long while! 

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter 8**

The cross was a strange color: too dark to be silver, too light to be black, and too shiny to be gray. Remy turned it over in his hands, examining the thin chain that led away from its back, testing its weight, considering its worth. If he wanted to sell it, a buyer wouldn't be hard to find; the cross seemed expensive, and had an attractive, slightly off-kilter quality that people always loved. But for once, he'd stolen something with absolutely no intention of peddling it.

It made him a little proud inside.

Not that it any way excused the fact that he'd stolen it from Rogue.

Twisting the necklace around his fingers, Remy sighed, recalling the way it had flickered in the warm sunlight while pressed against her pearl skin. His eyes had been drawn to it almost immediately, and like a bee frequenting a flower, they'd darted back whenever the chance presented itself. He wished he'd have asked if it was important to her, but he hadn't.

He hoped now that it wasn't.

Somehow, stealing a priceless family heirloom from a girl the same day he rediscovered his love for her didn't strike him as the best way to start off a relationship that –with his old friend, luck- would be long lasting.

Remy finally placed it down on his desk, reaching into a bottom drawer for the set of tools he would need to complete his project. Again, a useless wish ran through his mind, brief, but sincere: that he had something less lovely to work with. He considered himself an artist, like any in his trade would, but he hated to break open the cross, even for a little while.

It didn't help much that the shape was a cross. Visions of stern nuns standing over him, batting at his fingers with rulers like children at an arcade game, came to mind. 'Well Remy LeBeau, you've committed so many sins already', he thought he heard them saying, 'this new step hardly comes as a surprise'.

He took out a thin, long razor, careful to not touch the impossibly sharp blade to his skin. Leaning forward, he split the necklace into two pieces. One, he dropped down into the bottom drawer, sending the razor back down with it. The other...

"Knock, knock."

Upon hearing the voice, Remy passed a hand over his work, and when he moved it, the objects were gone. He adjusted his chair to greet the guest in his room. "_Bonjour, Bella_. Settled so soon?"

"Wit' no help from you," She shrugged, stepping towards his bed and sitting down, as if she'd been invited. She dropped her chin down into her palm. "What you workin' on?"

"Work."

She gave him a smile, but rolled her eyes. "How vague." When he didn't respond, Belladonna went on. "It's a nice place here. So many modern comforts, non? Now, personally, I'm an old-fashioned kind o' girl, an' I prefer luxury over technology, but it ain't half bad here. I guess dat's why y' didn't miss us so very much when y' left."

"I missed y' enough. 'Till I got over it." Remy always kept a small bottle of bourbon in the farthest corner of his desk, but he reached for it now, popping up the lid and swallowing some of the luke-warm liquid. He tossed it at the blonde on his bed, and she caught it easily. "There a reason y' here?"

He watched as she pushed the glass container to her bright red lips. When she was done, she sighed, dropping her back onto the mattress. Golden hair trailed down off the side, though she lifted one lock in her hands, twirling it around like a ribbon. "I don't know. It's hard t' be in da same house yo' in, an' not visit. M' bed isn't as comfortable," she added.

Remy laughed. "_Mais_, y' not stayin' in my room."

At this, she raised her head and stared at him with wide, falsely innocent eyes. "What's wrong, _Be_b? Y' don't t'ink anythin' would actually happen?"

She was, he thought, an incorrigible flirt; but then, it was an aspect of her personality he'd encouraged once upon a time. "I don't t'ink so," he said, firmly.

But not firmly enough. "Y' don't t'ink so?" She giggled, and he recognized the change in her voice: the naïve novice was gone, replaced by the ruthless seductress. She laid her head back down and sighed, dramatically. "Y' mean there's a chance somet'in' will."

"There's also a chance da world might end in da next thirty seconds, but dat don't mean it's gonna happen."

"But it might."

Remy shrugged. "I've never seen you so desperate, _Chere_; You da same girl who made me buy a hundred roses 'fore you'd forgive me for sayin' I might wanna take y' to da county fair?" As he said it, he couldn't resist smiling, as he recalled the absurdity of the situation. He remembered how hard it had been to carry all those roses at once.

"I don't know. Are you da same boy who bought 'em?"

"No."

"But that boy is still in y' somewhere." She pointed out. "An' I'll bet he's still willin' t' move the universe fo' me."

"It figures you'd say dat." Remy answered back. "Y' always were a terrible gambler."

"Say what y' will. It don't change da fact dat you afraid o' bein' in close proximity wit' me, does it?" She looked at him, grinning widely. Wickedly, and he knew the next words out of her mouth wouldn't be good ones. She pressed her face against his pillow –leaving the smell of her perfume- and said, "I wonder, love, y' ever tell dis Rogue girl we used t' sleep t'gether?"

* * *

_"Becky's a nice girl." Rogue said, as the plane ascended and then vanished over the horizon, leaving the two Southerners alone in the warm field._

_"She is," Gambit agreed. "But whatever she tol' you 'bout me is a dirty, rotten lie."_

_"Well, she said ya were nice, decent, an' good-lookin'. So yeah, Ah got that she couldn't be trusted."_

_They exchanged sly smiles, and then Rogue glanced down. For the first time, she realized that she hadn't exactly dressed for the occasion, or any occasion that didn't involve lounging around at home and picking some of Kitty's chores. She wore loose fitting flannel pajama pants and a tank top, her gloves, and an old black sweater that was quickly becoming weather-inappropriate, given the obstinate sunshine. How had that happened? She'd just jumped on a plane the second someone mentioned Remy's name? 'Hey, let's go see Remy'. 'Okay, sure, and let's not bother putting on a pair of jeans, either'. Sometimes, she had moments of pure brilliance._

_Was that even safe, spending time with a guy who made her forget like that? He could just cloud over her mind at any time. Hell, he didn't even need his charm. Just that damn smug grin and those sleepy, black eyes._

_"What are y' frownin' over?" Remy asked. He put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them. "All our time spent apart is beginnin' ta wear ya out, non? It's hard, I know, but I can't be by you every second, ever."_

_"Stop touching me." She said, shaking herself free. "An' don't be so vain. Maybe Ah was thinkin' about...cars."_

_"Cars?" He said, with a laugh._

_"O' blue birds."_

_"Uh huh."_

_"O' Money," she said. "Maybe Ah saw the wheat, thought o' bread, an' was contemplatin' my stocks in sandwiches."_

_"Reachin' kind o' far in search o' good excuses, are we?" Remy said, wryly._

_"Why don't ya shut up an' leave me alone. An' stop starin' at me like that." It was unnerving, his calm, easy gaze that followed her so carefully._

"_Aw, Chere, no more deep will I endart mine eye than yo' consent gives strength t' make it fly." Remy winked at her, as he started walking towards a small clearing in the field. Once there, he sat and gestured for her to do the same. "T'ink da plane scared some o' da fish. We should give 'em a chance t' calm down."_

_Rogue allowed herself to be drawn to the ground. As she did so, she cocked her head to the side and said, "Were y'all just speakin' Shakespeare?"_

_Remy made a show of pretending to think about it, as he drew his chin to his palm and chewed on his bottom lip. "Umm."_

"_Ugh," Rogue rolled her eyes. "You are such a ham."_

"_An' I suppose you just wanna eat me up, don't y'." He teased._

"_More like go vegetarian."_

"_Talk is cheap, Chere, an' it can't hide da look in y' eyes. One o' these days, yo' true feelin's are gonna come through. You'll start wit' some insult like, 'Remy LeBeau, if I had a choice 'tween marryin' you an' an escaped convict who killin' people by shovin' a toothpick in their eye while wearin' a giant chicken costume, I pick da convict every time'. But what you'll end up sayin' is, 'Remy, I'd pick you even if y' were da chicken killer, 'cause y' such an amazin' sex god." _

_Rogue laughed. "Oh really?"_

"_Really," he confirmed for her. "Y' can't fight fate, neh?"_

"_Can ya fight bad imaginary proposals?"_

"_What would be a good one?"_

_Rogue sighed. Marriage was a distant thought, somewhere near running for president and being the first woman on the planet Jupiter. What kind of proposal would satisfy her? Something romantic, exciting, funny...just, something, she supposed, and someone who cared about her. "Ah don't know. One where there's candlelight, music, privacy, sincerity-"_

"_My suggestion could've had all dat."_

"_-An' no mention o' psychotic killers."_

_Remy shrugged. "Can't have it all."_

"_Ah will when Ah find m' dream man." Rogue said, as she glanced away, baiting him._

"_An' what will he be like?"_

"_Perfection." She answered quickly._

"_Will he have good hair?"_

"_Yes. He'll have long, uh..." Rogue thought, what was something un-Remy? "Light hair."_

"_White?" He said, as if he couldn't hear right. The twinkle in his eyes suggested otherwise. _

"_Light. It'll be like, uh, silver. Shiny, shimmering silver."_

_Remy wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like Pietro."_

_It did sound like Pietro. Rogue groaned at herself for having not considered that. Did she want someone like Pietro? Not unless 'want' really meant 'loathe'. But maybe she could sell Remy on the idea. He'd been almost jealous before, when she'd accidentally mentioned her brief, foolish –definitely foolish- infatuation with Scott._

_Could she make him jealous again? Rogue grinned, innocently. "That's right. Maybe Ah should take a closer look at Maximoff an' re-evaluate him."_

"_Or I could just kill him an' save us all a little time." He reached out for her, and took one of her gloved hands between his, feeling the fabric, eventually pulling it up to his lips and brushing a kiss against it. "I don't wanna talk about Pietro no more," he whined. That wasn't exactly a jealous reaction... but Rogue didn't exactly care._

_He'd caught her off guard again, with his careful caress of her hand. How did he do that? One minute she was perfectly capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation and the next, she was fighting back the blush and trying to speak in coherent terms._

_Damn him._

_Damn the Cajun._

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

"_Whatever," Rogue sighed. "Just gimme back my hand an' we'll move on ta better subjects."_

"_Give y' back yo' hand?" Remy asked. "Good pilgrim, y' do wrong y' hand too much. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, an' palm t' palm is holy palmers' kiss." He pulled her hand towards him again, this time brushing a kiss against her knuckles._

_She flushed._

_If he did that again, he might be winning the bet after all._

_She shook off that sentiment. Think, Rogue, think of something else. She narrowed her eyes. "Ah knew it! That was Shakespeare! Where did a lowdown, sneaky, thievin' snake-charmer like you learn that?"_

"_Chere, da words o' love were born on' m' tongue same day as I was conceived."_

"_Uh huh," she said. Finally freed of his hands, she scooted farther away, taking the opportunity to remove the sweater, which was, by this time, much too warm. She shook her hands free and reached down to straighten her necklace._

_It had been a gift from Kitty Pryde, one of those rare times when their tastes in fashion had been the same. They'd been on a vacation in Brazil, and one of the local merchants had convinced them to consider his goods. He'd opened a small wooden box, it's plain brown surface a startling contradiction to the resplendent jewelry inside. They'd each bought something. Rogue had chosen the cross. Kitty had opted for a pair of earrings made of the same stone._

_That was her favorite necklace._

_She thought of Kitty, and suddenly remembered why she'd hadn't been so happy before she'd seen Remy..._

* * *

She never should have worn it. She should've kept in her drawer, where it would have been nice and safe. But she'd been foolish, and now the necklace was lost. Rogue turned over her mattress and peered beneath it, hoping it had fallen off while she slept. No luck. Big surprise there. 

It was probably floating at the bottom of that weird river.

It was all Remy's fault.

If she weren't so set on seeing him again soon, she would've vowed to not speak to him for a least a while.

Suddenly, there was a poof of black smoke as Kurt appeared in her room, a large cardboard box in his hands. "Good," he said, seeing her. "You're awake."

"Couldn't sleep. Ah lost something."

"Sorry." He dropped his burden on the edge of her desk and clapped his hands together, glancing around the room. "Ze professor said Kitty might benefit if some of her stuff vas in ze infirmary with her. Do you know which stuff might be most meaningful? Like ze teddy bear...?"

"Umm," Rogue shook her head. "Naw. Mr. Blue is her moping bear. She only finds him when she wants ta brood."

"Oh."

"Take her copy o' Emily Dickinson poems over there on th' table. She's always readin' 'em. But be careful, she keep these dried herbs in there an' swears they're irreplaceable."

Kurt picked up the item Rogue had suggested. "She's kind of a strange girl, isn't she?"

"Like you should talk," she said. "Who around here is blue, fuzzy, an' always smells like sulfur?"

"I do not!"

"Ah'm sorry, Ah can't hear ya over the sound o' denial."

* * *

When Remy returned to the house in the morning, after a night of being... away, he found Bella in his room again. He'd promised himself he wouldn't bring up the subject of their conversation. He wouldn't care. But the instant he saw her, sitting so quietly at his desk, drawing patterns on the table with a black marker, tolerance drained away from him, like water through a sieve. His eyes turned cold. "Who's been tellin' you 'bout Rogue?" 

"Pietro." She said, not turning to look at him.

Pietro. The idiot. Who else? If he could, Remy thought, he'd blast the little worm into pieces. "Why y' talkin' t' him, anyway?"

Bella smiled again, as she glanced over her shoulder. "Jealous?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Hardly. I just don't like him interferin' wit' my life."

"An' dat includes me."

"Don't feel special," Remy sighed, "It includes m' dirty laundry, too."

"Whatever you say, Remy love."

"Don't call me dat, Bella."

"What's so special about da girl, anyway? I've looked up her file," she lifted a set of papers over her head, and Remy saw that one of them was a picture of the x-girl. "She's not hideously ugly, but she can't touch at all. How could you, Remy LeBeau, want someone like her? Although, I gotta admit, ya get stars f' da Romeo an' Juliet aspect. Star-crossed lovers: One, Mr. Touchy-feely himself. Da other, Ms. Tactile Defensive."

"Gee, t'anks."

"But we had it, too, non? I mean, we are from separate sides o' da Guild world. I'm an assassin and you da Prince o' Thieves. I'd say, so far me an' da new girl are equal." The girl set the papers down and stood up, allowing her skirt to fall in all the right ways. There was a wrinkle in her blouse, and Remy almost moved to smother it away. But in the end, he didn't.

And he supposed that's how things were with Bella now. They were distorted. Wrinkled. He knew he should've put some effort into fixing the problem, and sometimes, he thought he wanted to. But when it all came down to the line, he just didn't. He left it there. And so they'd never travel any further down that broken road.

"You should leave now," he advised her.

"I will." She moved past him, and she was almost gone when he stopped her.

"You ain't gonna talk t' nobody 'bout me an' Rogue, are y?" He was thinking of Magneto. They both knew it.

"An' stifle m' competition?" Bella said. "Let's make a deal, we two. I won't tell Eric 'bout Rogue if y' don't tell Rogue 'bout me."

* * *

**Seven Minutes Later...**

Remy was finished with the cross. Inside, he'd neatly installed a recorder. It was simply amazing how tiny machines had gotten. If it was returned to Rogue in such a state, and if she returned to the mansion with it wrapped around her neck, he could hear all sorts of conversations. Battle plans, gossip, anything and everything she or her teammates said. It was so perfect, he couldn't imagine why none of the other Acolytes or Brotherhood members thought of it before him. But then, they didn't do much thinking at all. They just acted when instructed to.

What a hell that life, that job, sounded like. To be so restrained...Remy had served more than a few hours of his life as somebody's go-to man, but he'd never been just that. Just a fistful of tossed, charged cards. Just a servant acting whenever the master commanded it. He didn't have it in his soul to be slave.

For that reason, he wasn't going to return the necklace back to Rogue with the microphone in it. He'd show the jewelry off to Piotr, convince the boy that he was as loyal an Acolyte as money could buy. And then, when everybody was happy, he'd restore the necklace back to it's original state and sneak it onto Rogue's person. If she noticed, he'd say that it found it and wanted to return it.

That was half true, at least.

He wrapped the pretty necklace around his finger again and held it up to the lights.

Things would be a lot harder if he wasn't such a good liar.

* * *

**General Notes: **Is it just me or am I ending far too many chapters will Evil Blondes? Hmm. If you a blonde, and are reading my stories, ummmm... sorry? Maybe I'll toss an evil brunette in there somewhere, too. Or, have Bella dye her hair a strange color. Any suggestions? ;) 

**Notes of the Individual Sort:**

**Totally Obsessed47: **I think you gave me the fastest review I've like, ever gotten. It came before I'd even had a chance to make sure I'd posted it right! Wow. Maybe there's a little Pietro in you. :) Thanks so much!

**EmeraldKatsEye**: This was a happy chapter, wasn't it? I mean, it was happier. Okay, that's a lie. It's probably equal in happy/unhappiness. And it's all your fault. Don't ask me how. Just know that it's all your fault. Thanks! Oh, and check the genre!

**Star-Of-Chaos**: For some reason, when you say 'Bella using Remy's head as a knife-throwing target' it sounds funnier than when I say it. Although, you can imagine, if you don't get to keep Remy and his pretty face, would you want anyone else getting it?

**Dreamschemer**: Maybe if we hide the champagne in the cider and then keep breath mints nearby, so if a cop comes by we can toss the bottles, cram the Altoids down our throats, and no one will be the wiser! Bwa ha ha!

**Ishandahalf**: I'm a silly person. The first time I read your comment about Thanksgiving, I was like, is it November already? Darn it, I missed Halloween! But then Kat explained, and I feel much more enlightened now. Thanksgiving is such a nice holiday; I think I'm going to start celebrating it twice a year. Once in Canada, and once in that other place (my home). Oh, and do you really think that I'd say something just to confuse you?! Don't you know me at all? weeps

**Sweety8587**: Well, Bella's keeping her silence from Magneto, but her silence comes at a price! And yeah, she may try to stir up trouble between Rogue and Remy. I think she and Rogue should have it out in a huge, violent fight. There just aren't enough fics where Roguey get's to beat up on Bella. But then, she might not get that chance in this fic, either.

**Ashley**: Er, I listen sometimes to country. Sometimes. Dependent on many things, my watching of country music is. But you know what I always like? Awesome reviewers like you! So come again!

**Tsugath**: You too!

**Gaea3: **I gasp in shock. Kill off Bella? Didn't you know that this was a Bella/Remy fic? With some touches of Pietro/Rogue.... Agh! Just writing that pained my hands. Must seek...out...medical...assistance...

**Melphis: **Come on, Bella might not be the worst of their problems. I mean, sure, she's his ex-fiance whose bent on recapturing his love and has now gotten him to not tell Rogue about her being there but...oh wait, she probably is their biggest problem. Hmm. Thanks!

**XpoisonedxangelX**: Doesn't everyone love Pietro as much as they adore Bella? Or is that just me? laughs I told you, no secret guessing!

**Breathless:** Why, thank you! Do review again!

**Goddess Evie: **Ah, you're another crazy English teacher to be. Hey, it would probably be best if, while teaching, you didn't opt to sit under desks and chew the tail of a plastic rat. I don't care how popular that is among E. Teachers. Or was it just my teacher who did that? Good with sniper rifles, are you? How much do you charge, per assassination? Just out of curiosity, of course. :)

**AnalisDestiny**: Why thank you, ever so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Thanks!

**This is s e x: **You've got the best name to finish these individual reviews off with! Oh, btw, I followed your favorites list to The Dark King, which is way good, so thanks for that! Come back and review again!

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? My yahoo ID is Eileenblzr, so you can always find me there.


	9. Nine

I know, I know, this is two weeks late, but I've got this college application thing happening, and a six page economics report on the great depression due _way_ too soon. If anyone wants to send me his or her 6-page report, I'd be much obliged. Also, you may or may not have noticed the story has been slightly revised. Nothing major, seriously, mostly grammar and spelling stuff. Something new: Reponses _before _the story! Thanks for reviewing! Do it again.

**Xpoisonedxangelx**: You think Bella's going to end up with Pietro? Wouldn't that be a weird twist! Maybe a little _too_ weird! Thanks a bunch!

**Star-Of-Chaos**: The microphone thing would be a good plot device…let's hope I'm smart enough to use it! (Sometimes, I'm not). Thanks so much for your review!

**Sweety8587**: I like pineapples. They go well with coconuts. They make pina colada, which is just the best ever! Almost as good as getting reviews. Thank you!

**Ishandahalf**: I want you to know this took so long just because you thought it would. I lived up to your expectations. It's all part of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Why, why did you make this come so late!? And I was being so good, too.

**EmeraldKatseye**: There is no loophole! Rogue knows that Remy once had a fiancé, but she doesn't know that she's back. That's the whole catch. Remy already told Rogue that he and Bella are over, but now he's keeping secrets from Rogue for her. So ha.

**Dreamschemer**: Thank you for your review! You're so nice. I never need blush, just to read a few reviews!

**Goddess Evie**: You seem a little _too _happy to see Bella so desperate. Aw, who am I kidding. I love seeing Bella struggle, she's so awful here. Quite the contrast to my other fic. It's strange. I'm writing up that list of People Who Need to Be Taken Care Of. It won't be finished though, 'til after I see my finals. Thanks so much!

**Flyby Stardancer**: Thanks for the review! Come again soon and I'll give you a cookie!

**Fudje**: Bella/Rogue and Pietro/Remy? That certainly would be messed up pairings! From now on, I shall learn from you and make sure the pairing I threat you with are QUITE twisted! Thanks for the lesson! (How does Beast/Pete strike you? Twisted? Or Xavier/Wanda?)

**Dreamcatcher89**: _Clowns are evil_! I need protection from them! And thank you much for the review.

**Analis Destiny**: Reading your reviews were so nice and so much fun! I loved getting them. _Thanks! _Come again and I'll give a cookie! We have three flavors: Good, Great, and Only On the Floor for 17 Seconds.

**Cold Contagious**: You aren't the only hoping for Bella's death. Here's hoping everyone gets what they want!

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter Nine**

One room: a couch, a TV, a phone.

_Bamf._

Second Room: a bed with blue blankets, a nightstand, a framed picture of Jean Grey.

_Bamf._

Third Room: a messy bed, a shredded lampshade, blue jeans hanging in the closet.

_Bamf_.

Fourth Room: a couch, a TV, a phone… and a hundred or so red and gold balloons. Kurt Wagner was searching the mansion for any sign of his lost watch when he came across the strange sight. The balloons hovered in the air like a great multitude of bobbing heads. Up and down they went, nodding hello to the blue elf.

For what occasion were they meant? Kurt frowned. He'd appointed himself something of a morale officer for the X-Men, because they'd been doing rather poorly in that regard, ever since Kitty's accident. But was he already failing, forgetting some holiday, a birthday, a planned celebration?

Curiously, Kurt reached out with his hand to touch one of the balloons. The rubbery material looked strained, so he made sure to be careful, though in the end his efforts proved futile. At the very moment they made contact, the balloon and him, it exploded into a mass of colorful confetti. He blew a few scraps of it from his nose and noticed a paper had fallen out of the balloon as well. Kurt bent over, picked it up, and unrolled the message.

His yellows eyes blinked and then, just to make sure, he touched another balloon and watched it explode as well. A quiet sigh escaped his lips. Some days, there was no getting any break.

_Bamf_.

* * *

"Ah can't believe this," Rogue said, ten minutes later, after Kurt had brought her and an assortment of the others to the room. "Now, we're bein' attacked by confetti? Ah swear folks just ain't takin' us seriously."

"Yeah, they wouldn't do this to the Avengers." Someone else said. Most of the younger mutants chuckled in response, muttering their agreements in hushed voices. Rogue was glad; the less serious they took the strange attack, the better… _at least for the moment_. Xavier, Storm, Logan, and Beast were gone, testifying before the Senate to keep yet another anti-mutant bill from becoming law; Jean and Scott had taken the afternoon off to enjoy a bit of the summer sunshine, before it faded away into dreary autumn. With their core leadership out for the day, they didn't need to be seized by any kind of panic.

Though, Rogue knew, things were serious. Someone, an invisible enemy, had _twice_ infiltrated their home. The mansion was supposed to be a sanctuary, their refuge, but now it was compromised. And the faceless bastard knew it; he was mocking them with his demented clowns and colorful balloons.

She unfolded the paper that had fallen out of the balloon again. After so many readings, she should've known better than to hope its message had changed, but she hoped anyway. The paper had wrinkled, but its typed note was clear as ever. In Jokerman font, and purple print, it read: _Dr. Johan Franklin's secrets are going to be sold to the highest bidder. That means mucho money, X-Idiots._

Rogue shut it quickly, before any of the younger kids could read it. They hadn't been given access to the actual note. No one was supposed to know about Dr. Franklin's real purpose. That assignment hadn't changed. But in a calm voice, she asked Kurt, "Did ya send Mr. Clark ta the safe room?"

The 'safe room', as they called it, was a good-sized area designed to keep any guests out of harm's way, if the mansion itself was attacked. Security there was exceptional. Clark didn't appear to be in any current danger, but the fact that his secret was out to someone was enough to warrant placement in the safe room. At least, Rogue hoped so. With everyone of higher rank gone, she'd been the one to make the call and the man hadn't been thrilled about the idea.

"Ja," the blue elf responded with a nod. "He's all set."

"Good. Has anyone been able to contact Scott yet?" The Senate meeting couldn't be disturbed, but Scott's date was an entirely different story. The sooner he came back, the sooner everyone would start to settle down.

"His cell's ringing, but there's no answer." Jubilee said. "I think they're avoiding us. They want _privacy_."

"Somebody give me a phone," Rogue instructed, holding out a glove-clad hand. There was shuffling around her, and then a small cell phone was placed in her open palm. She quickly dialed a number. It was a secret number. Once, in the middle of a tennis game, she and Scott had tossed around the idea of a special number code. To be dialed, of course, only in the event of an emergency. It was an attention-getter kind of thing. Nothing had ever come of that discussion, especially since they were designing new communicator devices that would allow contact across the globe. But she remembered the number they'd suggested. 815165: hope. Her text message sent, she hung up and waited to see if he'd recall and phone her back.

There was a good four seconds where everyone watched her watch the phone, no one quite sure of what would happen next. And then… "_Riiiing_," the phone screeched. Rogue answered it with a small smile, pleased at herself.

"Scooter?" She asked.

"Scott or Cyclops, Rogue," he reminded her sternly. "You sent the emergency number. I can't believe you remember that. What's happened? Is everyone all right?"

"We're all fine here, but there's been another invasion, we think. Someone's come an' left a whole lot o' balloons filled with uh, junk."

"Junk? Is that a technical term?"

"Yeah." Feeling eyes boring into her, Rogue turned around and discovered that everyone was still watching her conversation with Scott, curiosity brightening their faces. "Scott, will ya hold on a sec? Ah want Kurt ta join us." She gestured to her peers, sending all but Kurt from the room. Him, she pulled closer. The others weren't happy, but they were more or less used to it. Their status on the team was still questionable, and it wasn't uncommon for them to be cast away the minute things started to be too serious.

"This person knows about Dr. Franklin," she continued, "An' that ain't all. We checked the cameras for any sign o' the intruder, but there weren't any tapes. Turns out, Mr. McCoy shut 'em this mornin' ta run an efficiency scan. Ya know, he doesn't tell many people 'bout that."

"So what are you suggesting?" Scott asked.

When Rogue didn't answer, Kurt offered his voice. "I can tell you vhat others are saying," he said, "they're saying no one could've done this vithout insider help. I don't vant to believe it myself, but many are already convinced. They believe there's a… a traitor in the mansion."

Rogue expected as much, but hearing its said aloud affected her nonetheless. Of all the things to deal with…

A traitor. It wasn't her. She'd met with Remy several times, but never betrayed any of the valuable information the strange invader was privy to. Her and Remy didn't even talk about X-Men/Acolyte stuff; it was a rule. That's why the rule was in place. But the younger X-Men were impetuous, eager, and hungry for answers. If they found out, they'd believe she'd turned on them.

The senior X-Men wouldn't. They knew her. To a certain extent, they trusted her. And besides that, they had Jean, Betsy, and Xavier to verify her story. She could tell them…but once they knew, they'd want her to end it; they'd call it an act of security. For the good of everyone, they'd say, the affair with Remy would have to cease. Problem was, she didn't want it to. How would she make them understand _that_? Maybe that's what a traitor really was, and she was one of them: a person who could save her friends a lot of trouble and prevent a disaster, just by confessing a little, only she doesn't because it would cost her too much personally. Maybe traitor was just another name for selfish.

"Don't let them take that route," Scott warned at last. "Once they get in that mentality, it'll be hard to break. Listen, Jean and I will be there soon. In the meantime, keep them out of the area where the incident occurred and give them busy work. Have them search for footprints or something, just so they feel they're being helpful. I don't want a witch hunt against one of our own."

"Sure thing, Scott." Rogue pulled phone away from her ear and crossed her arms, watching Kurt finish up with the goodbyes. _Sure thing. _She wondered if he'd have been less inclined to delegate her authority if he'd known how she'd been spending her free time.

* * *

The miniskirt was short. Colorful, like a smear of rainbow colored finger paints, soft and shimmering, as though it would melt into any hand that touched it, and clingy, so that it rode up with each step of its owner. Bella paused in the stairway to adjust her pajama bottoms, blushing lightly as she realized she had the attention of the Acolyte boys. "Oh, my," she exclaimed, her accent thick like molasses, "Ah better start wearin' a robe, _non_?"

Remy rolled his eyes. That was Bella, the actress, the drama queen. Her play-acting had been cute and endearing in their early youth, but now she just came across as flat out insincere. _Well, mostly insincere_. There was still a bit of the bright-eyed assassin he'd once loved in her.

Bella made her way to the couch and took a seat beside Remy, dropping her head against his shoulder. Her hair made a wave of crashing gold that decorated half of his torso. He caught a lock in his hands and spun it around, recalling the nights he'd fallen asleep with her hair in his face, her body hogging most of the covers. Absently, he wondered what kind of pajamas Rogue slept in.

"So tell me, what do y' boys do here all day?" Bella asked. "Just sit an' watch da walls grow moldy?"

"Something like that," John answered with a grin. He sunk down onto the couch space beside Bella. "But then, we've never had a girl to show us how to have fun proper."

"An' here I thought I'd be crampin' yo' style."

"Y' crampin' _my _style," Remy complained.

"Don't be such a baby."

"Go away an' I promise t' improve."

"Sticks an' stone'll break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

"Dat's 'cause you too dense t' understand 'em. Nothin' I'd be braggin' 'bout."

"Don't know how you've got room t' talk, boy. As it is, I had t' teach y' somet'in' 'bout English myself."

"What, how t' fail it?" Remy guessed.

"Aw, look at you," John said, dryly. "Just like an old married couple." He made a gagging face.

Remy and Bella looked at each other and for just the briefest moment, smiled. Henri had been the same way, always complaining because the couple was too involved in each other to notice there was a third member of their little group. Third Wheel Henri, he'd once nicknamed himself, though the title hadn't stuck at all. Shortly after, he'd met a girl named Merci and fallen faster than a bowling dropped from Heaven.

The moment passed and Remy released Bella's hair. He couldn't do it, jugglethe Bella problem andhis relationship with Rogue at the same time.It was going to drive him insane, and he wouldn't be any good to either girl. Maybe that's what Bella really wanted. Hewouldn't put something like that past her."I'm goin' for a mornin' run."

"Perhaps I could accompany you," Piotr suggested. "Quicksilver's program died again last night, so I must train the old fashioned way… on the sidewalk."

"I don't know," Remy sighed. "Can y' keep up?"

"Can you?"

The young Cajun boy shrugged. "Get ready. We leave in a few minutes."

* * *

"I can't see anything." Jamie exclaimed.

"Neither can I." Another Jamie agreed.

"Me either." Chimed in his third counterpart.

Together, the three of them sighed and pouted in unison.

Sam shook his head. "Ya ain't gonna find footprints if ya keep searchin' the walls. Why don't ya try checkin' the ground for a few minutes, maybe surprise ya'self."

"But Sam," the three identical boys stepped together, somehow falling into the same body. "That would be so conventional, using the floor to get in and out of the room. Our guy isn't like that. He's different. Maybe he's not even human, that's how come he knows so much about us and when to invade without the cameras being on. His disembodied spirit could be floating around us, even as we speak."

Tabitha heard them talk. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the boys, especially naïve little Jamie. "Come on, kids," she told them, "let's not fool ourselves. The truth is, someone here's a little rat. This whole searching for footprints is a waste of time. We should be checking out everyone's alibis, not scouring the floor with the small hope that Mr. Invader left a few clues for us to find."

"We don't know for sure that anyone here is involved." Jamie reminded her in a serious tone.

"Yeah, but we don't know for sure that anyone here ain't involved," Sam said. "An' wouldn't ya rather be sure? The way things are now, we're all gonna be wonderin' all the time, bein' suspicious o' each other."

"It was probably Tabitha anyway!" Jamie declared. "Isn't she part of the Brotherhood?"

"Hey!" The blonde cried, slapping Jamie with the back of her hand. "I'm not the only one who's had dealing with the Brotherhood. Just before it was our time, that's no reason to forget that Rogue was once a member herself. And all that time she's spent with Risty, who was really Mystique. And then her tear across Bayville… it took the whole team, just to subdue her!"

"Let's not forget, Tabby, it was all your minds that were possessin' me that day."

None of the three mutants turned around to see the girl that was obviously standing behind them. What were they going to say, sorry for doubting your allegiance to the team, especially since you're currently in charge of it? And while we're at it, sorry for using the fact that your mother/best friend turned out to be a shape-shifting mutant who used you so she could gain access to the X-Men's base, but then we turned that information against you. Sam stared at the ground, all the while running a nervous hand through his sandy blonde hair. "We didn't mean nothin' Rogue, Tabs was just spoutin' garbage, like always."

"Ugh. Whatever." The blonde threw up her hands and headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to go check if the Mr. Invader left footprints on the chocolate espresso ice cream."

Rogue sighed. A hand patted her back. Carol Danvers came into view, smiling. "Wow. There's a lot I don't know about you, Rogue. I thought you were one of those obvious people. You know, the kind who you can take one look at and know instantly every hope and dream they've ever had. But you're a little more complex than that, aren't you. How come you never told me you were a member of the Brotherhood for a while? _Why_ were you a member of the Brotherhood? They look kind of slimy."

"They are kind o' slimy." Rogue pinned her hair up with a clip and shrugged. "If Ah never told ya, it's 'cause Ah ain't particularly proud o' that time in my life. It's easy ta use someone. Guess Ah made an easy target back then."

"And now?"

"Now, Ah'm just waitin' for Cyclops ta come back home so people can stop buggin' me."

* * *

Piotr was fast. Powerful. In a race with any normal man, he'd have the clear advantage. But in a race with Remy LeBeau, a great thief, a gifted athlete with more than a touch of unnatural agility, the Russian was outmatched. After some number of miles, he fell back, unable to keep up the pace the Cajun had set. So Remy moved alone, with the wind blowing cool air kisses onto his face and bare chest, the sunshine pouring over his head like rain.

When he was a far enough distance from his running partner, Remy stopped. Backed into a quiet alley. Pulled his hood over his head, and took out his phone. He wanted to see Rogue again. He wished he could. But with Bella hanging around all the time, things were that much more complicated. He couldn't let them start to spiral out of control. He dialed Rogue's number, the one he'd stolen from her wallet when she wasn't looking.

"_Hello_?" Her voice. "_Cyclops_?"

He'd never been called that before, or at least not since the major accident that had put him in the hospital for a month, with half his head bandaged so that only one eye was visible. Remy grinned at the memory. "Chere? Y' can call m' whatever y' want t'."

* * *

He was not on the other end of the line. No. He wouldn't do that. He wasn't that stupid. Rogue stared at the phone in her hands… not her cell, not any kind of private line, just the main phone. The one that was connected in a thousand different rooms. Anyone could've picked it up. Anyone could listen in. And he was talking….

He _was_ that stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Rogue didn't know how to respond. She had to say something; everyone's eyes were on her. They thought maybe it was Scott, calling to give them better orders. It wasn't Scott. It was Remy. Stupid, stupid Remy, who had to have the worst timing in the world.

"Ah'm sorry." She said carefully. "We already have a vacuum cleaner, Sir."

"_In dat case, can I interest y' in a charmin', dashin', adorable boy? He's even potty trained_."

Rogue flushed. "Maybe ya can call back later." She emphasized the word 'later'. Much later, if he wanted to live.

"_Listen, I'm sorry 'bout callin' up da mansion. Lucky y' answered, neh? Saved me a bit o' lyin'. Listen, Roguey, we got t' talk an' I don't t'ink I'll have a chance t' call back any time soon. Somet'in's come up_."

"Hang up," Jubilee advised, hovering near the phone. "We don't need any telemarketers right now."

"Maybe it's really the invader guy," Lorna suggested. "He's playing another trick. Is there any way we can check the phone line and see who's calling? You know, match a voice or something?"

"No!" Rogue cried. "Ah mean, we can do that, just let's wait until Mr. McCoy comes back. Ah think he's been doin' somethin' with a phone an' we don't wanna mess that up." Her words sounded floppy, sloppy, and thin. And it was all Remy's fault.

"_We need a break, Chere_." He said, just as she was getting ready cut him off.

"What? We do?" She hadn't intended her voice to be so loud.

"Don't let them sell you with those gimmicks."

"_Damn it. Pete's catchin' up. Look, I'll get back t' y' in a few weeks_." Remy's end of the line went dead. Rogue blinked. _What the hell…_

"Who was on the phone?" Scott asked, coming to the center of the group. Behind him, Jean Grey stepped into view, her alert eyes already sifting through people's faces, trying to get a better idea of what had happened. Rogue was forced to once again banish all her thoughts of the Cajun boy to the darkest place of her mind, lest the telepath catch on.

"No one important," Rogue sighed. "Ah better show ya the room."

* * *

Piotr gave Remy a strange look. "Why did you stop running?"

"T' let you catch up," He answered. "Y' were laggin' so damn far behind, I felt sorry for y'."

"Oh. I see." But he didn't see. Remy rolled his eyes.

"I'm gon' start runnin' again. Dis time y' on y' own, so try an' keep up. Just pretend Magneto's ordered y' t' beat me, all right? Maybe it'll provide some incentive. We just go three mo' laps an' head home." He bent down to tie his shoe. "Oh, an' by da way, when we get back home, remind me t' show y' da necklace."

"Necklace?" Piotr wondered.

"Just remind me."

* * *

**Later… **

Once everything was quiet, Rogue found herself wishing she could have her conversation with Remy again. What, she wanted to know, had come up? What was going on? Her hands itched to throttle him, demanding that he give her a better explanation than just 'sorry, see you in a while'. A voice told her that he was right; the temporary separation was coming at a good time, for the both of them, apparently. And as they said, absence made the heart grow fonder… but her heart was fond enough.

Rogue sighed and knocked on Carol's door. The two of them were scheduled to train together –Rogue had accepted the position of sparring partner to the blonde since Kitty's accident. Slowly the door opened. In fatigues and a baseball cap, Carol seemed more eager and more ready for a fight than she ever had before. Even her blue eyes seemed harder. Rogue didn't think anything of it, though, because that wave of change had been circulating around the mansion all day. People didn't plan on being caught aware again.

"Ah'm so ready ta go blow up artificially created bad guys," Rogue confessed. "Let's get goin'."

"I agree," Carol said, bending the bill of her hat. "When I hit a fake sentinel, its like all of my inner frustration has finally found an escape route. I've only been here a short while, but I swear, the Danger Room feels more comfortable for me than this room you guys gave me. Not that the room isn't great, understand."

"Ah get it." Rogue answered with a nod. "Believe me, Ah get it."

"That's what I like about you, Rogue. If you just skim the surface, we don't seem to have all that much in common, but we agree where it really counts. Its funny, I told my mom about you the other day and she couldn't believe that we could stand to be in the same room together, let alone that we were on the fast track to true friendship. To be honest, it kind of snuck up on me how much I liked talking to you."

"Ya weren't the only one surprised."

Carol grinned. "Hey, do you like chocolate?"

"More n' Ah ought ta."

"Well, I just got this huge batch of chocolate candy from my mom. It was her birthday, and she gave _me_ a gift. I told her not to, but she never listens. She's stubborn as hell, I swear." Suddenly, the smile dropped from Carol's face like a piece of melting caramel. "I'm so sorry. They told me a little about Mystique, but I didn't even think of it when I was talking. I didn't mean to rub your face in anything."

"Ah'm fine." Rogue insisted. For once, she hadn't been thinking of the shape-shifter. Her thoughts had been far too busy dealing with Remy's behavior. But she made up an excuse for Carol, anyway. "Its actually nice ta talk ta someone who forgets about her. It makes it easier for me ta do the same. An' besides, Ah'm glad for ya. At least some o' us gotta have good family lives."

"Are you sure?"

"Ah'm positive."

"But are you really, really sure, or just kind of, Carol's already put someone in the hospital, let's not make her feel any worse than she already does sure?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Carol."

"Fine." The other girl sighed.

They both studied their shoes for a moment. Rogue wound up studying the difference between the two pairs. She wore neat, black pair of boots that she'd gotten for Christmas and only used during training programs, while Carol had on a set of green sandals that showcased newly painted nails. It had to be nice, she thought, being invulnerable.

"So about that chocolate," the blonde said quietly. "Do you want some? If you don't take a little off my hands, it's going to end up taking the grand trip down my throat and straight to my thighs and nobody wants that. Between all that's happening, the last thing I need is to start gaining weight."

"Ah can't imagine extra weight would look very good under the uniforms we wear." She acknowledged.

"What's up those, anyway?"

"They're made out o' special material that's meant ta allow us movement, use o' powers, that kind o' stuff. Ya can only imagine what would happen if we didn't have those. Considerin' the battles we have, most the team would wind up naked when they're clothes froze up, burned off, etcetera, etcetera."

Carol wrinkled her nose. "That wouldn't exactly be a pretty sight. Depending, of course, on who the team consisted of that day. There's still a guy or two I wouldn't mind getting a better look at."

"Ugh. Ya aren't still castin' a romantic eye towards Scott, are ya? 'Cause his whole world revolves around telepathic, telekinetic redheads named Jean and battle strategies."

"Romance has nothing to do with it." The girl winked. "And after all, I heard you yourself were a little wrapped up in the boy for quite a while. Isn't it a tad bit hypocritical of you to be telling me I'm off my rocker for dreaming of the possibility?"

The Scott Crush felt like a world ago. Another Rogue. That was all before, she thought. "Well, ya can't tell me nothin'. Ah've always got ta learn it for myself. Are ya that way, too?"

"Nope. I don't like wasting my time." Carol shrugged. "But then, maybe the experience would do me good."

"Hmm."

"So, you want to get the chocolate right now? We can have a piece on the way over to the Danger Room."

Rogue was tempted to say no. It was true that chocolate was one of her passions, but it was always a rather private one. She loved to eat it alone, with her gloves off, so that she could lick up her fingers when she was done. It struck her as being vaguely childish, the idea of purposely getting food on her hands, but so long as no one ever saw her, it didn't seem to matter much.

"Or, I could just give it to you and you could drop it off at your room on the way over." Carol added.

"Sure." Rogue answered, thankful for the alternative.

"Come on, it's just in my room." Together, they moved to go through the door. Rogue was careful to give the other girl space. She didn't want to crowd, push, or worse, touch her. The half step she left between them was almost an unconscious action.

And then it happened.

She wasn't sure how.

It couldn't have happened.

She was careful.

But it happened anyway…

Before she even realized what was going on, there was a familiar sensation was coursing through her, flooding her head with strange visions. Memories, emotions, energy, they all came bundled as one big package that she couldn't send away. But this time, it was almost different. One minute, she was fighting to keep her mind clear and stop the contact, and the next, something was sucking it all back out of her. Only it didn't stop by taking the new memories, it started pulling at her own. Back and forth it went, filling her up and emptying her out until she was dizzy, confused, and sick to her stomach.

Finally, she stumbled back so the contact was broken. Through unfocused eyes, she saw Carol Danvers fall to the ground like an over-sized rag doll. And then her legs gave out beneath her and she fell, too. The world disappeared as she hit the floor. At least her strange day was over.


	10. Ten

Hmmm. Took a while. Carol did not want to play nice. But we have ways of making fictional characters talk. No, seriously. Who do you think makes up all these strange conversations in this story?

A word to my kind and wonderful reviewers:

Ish: I wanted to update really fast, just to prove the ol' self-fulfillment prophecy, but then I read your comment on tracksuits and that made me think of Starsky and Hutch, so I wanted to see the movie, and I was just lost. The fact that this is coming in January instead of December something is _all. your. fault_.

Willa: Hiya! The necklace thing was a ploy of Remy's to get Piotr to believe that his only interest in Rogue was purely work-related. How is that effort going, you ask? Well, read on! And review! And thanks.

enchantedlight: thanks!

Chia De Los Ojos Café: Thanks a bunch! Hope ya read and review again!

Sweety8587: Yay, coconuts! I can't believe you've never had a pina colada. I'd suggest you go out and find one immediately, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for the corruption of a minor… not again. Aw heck, go out and find one anyway!

Fudje: Thanks so much. I really wouldn't put in a Xavier/Wanda pairing, or whatever I said. I'm currently reserving much of my evilness for… hey, for this chapter. Ha. Read on, and review. Please?

Dreamschemer: My cookies! Mine! Mine, I say! Er, I mean, thank you, oh, so much! No go read!

Plague-darkholme: You know the 'break' comment was inspired by FRIENDS. I love that show. My little tribute. Ha. But anywho, thanks so much for the review!

Outofivanhoe: Awww, shucks. I know the pace has been a bit… er, draggy… but uh… oh, look. No excuse. No, I do have one. I was trying to get them through the whole getting to know you phase. They're through it. We're moving on. Read again, please? Review?

Dreamcatcher89: You…. You're too suspicious. Seriously, learn to _trust_ a character. Really. I mean it. Just, don't trust me. Because I'm a pathological liar. I want to know what you were thinking!

Lady-Snape7: Thank you much! And please come again! Although, if you're here, I suppose that means that you have come again, in which case, thanks even more!

Crazy: Wow. You… I need a pin or something to pop this giant inflating head o' mine. You're so _sweet_. And… yeah. Thank you. I'm always glad when someone enjoys my fic, and the fact that it's not your usual cup o' tea makes me positively _glow_!

MwrulesC: Hey, I know you! It's great to have you on board again! Thanks a bunch! Glad you're still reading!

Emerald K: Knowing ruins it all. And if you tell a soul, I'll kill you where you sleep. I do hope you like the chapter, and oh, yeah, maybe there's still something even you aren't expecting. Gimme two days and you'll get your SPECIAL DEDICATION. Hahahaha.

Lady Godiva: I love knowing I distracted someone from school. Especially since I wrote it instead of paying attention to school myself. See, there's this connection we've got, now! Thanks a bunch!

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter 10**

_Wee Willy Winkie runs through the town_

_Upstairs, downstairs, in his nightgown_

_Rapping at the windows_

_Crying at the locks…_

_Good Lord, are you singing to yourself, Rogue? That's pretty pathetic. Why don't you just shut up, open your eyes, and join the real world. It's waiting for you, you know. Something big has happened. Can you feel everyone's presence? They're crowding around you now, waiting ever so patiently for their little sleeping beauty to arise and weigh in on a few issues. Do you think they'd be content to sit and twiddle their thumbs if they knew you were in here recollecting lullabies? Nope. They'd send in Jean or the professor to drag you back. So come, come little Southern vampire, let's not put off the inevitable._

_Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn_

_The sheep's in the meadow_

_The cows in the corn_

_Why do you suppose you're avoiding this moment, anyway? Better yet, why are you thinking of the rhymes Irene sung to you as a very small, four-year-old girl? They're comforting, no doubt. You're probably remembering how it felt to hear her voice, so soft, so low, so warm, so friendly, so kind. Even the words themselves had been nice. You could just picture yourself lying out in the middle of a cornfield, basking in the soft Mississippi sun, hearing some faint horn in the distance. If you listen carefully, you can hear the horn now. Only it's not exactly a horn. It's the beep-beep-beep of the monitor that's hooked up to your body. They're all watching it now, noticing the change in your vitals, feeling optimistic for the first time in hours because finally, Rogue's waking up and she'll be able to answer a few burning questions._

_Hush little baby_

_Don't say a word_

_Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird_

_Tsk, tsk. You're trying to run from me. You're scared. Uncomfortable. You can't quite place who I am, and that unsettles you. Mystique? No, she'd never care that everyone else is waiting. Kitty? Nope, not nice enough. Kurt, Scott, Jean, Evan, Pietro, Wanda, Jubilee, Tabitha, Toad, Lance, the list goes on and on but I am none of them, either. The girl you accidentally touched while trying on gloves at the mall? Not a chance. She was a tourist from Germany, remember? Didn't even speak English. But haven't you skipped someone? Does the name Carol ring a bell? You've been avoiding the suggestion like it was poison. Still, that was quite unnecessary. Danvers, I am not. Ah, you're confused, because all along you've been harboring the secret fear that I was the blonde and now you really have absolutely no idea. Let me put you out of your misery. Today, Sweetheart, Rumplestiltskin is spelt R-O-G-U-E._

_Ain't that a shocker? I don't sound like you, do I? I can, of course. Why, talkin' like y'all would be more natural ta me than glancin' out the window an' findin' the sun suspended in the sky. Ah reckon changin' the sound o' me took some fancy twistin' on behalf o' our subconscious, ya know? But you went through the trouble, because you never listen to yourself, Rogue. It's time you start._

_You run too much._

_You compromise too much._

_It's time to _wake up

* * *

She woke to the sound of humming. All around her, the setting was familiar: the firm bed, the scratchy blue infirmary blankets, the IV in her arm, the glass windows that provided a perfect view of the plain black walls outside. But the humming, that was new. The sound was vaguely off-key, quiet, personal… she rolled her eyes up to glimpse at the person doing it. It was Chris Clark. Dr. Franklin. Whoever he was today. In his hands, he held a small notebook and he was scribbling furiously while humming to himself. He hadn't noticed that she was awake yet.

"Uh, Mr. Clark?" Her voice was raspy. Scratchy. She ran a hand along her throat, as if she could rub the clarity back in. She repeated, "Mr. Clark."

The gentleman's eyes left the pad and found her instead. A smile spread across his face as he crossed his arms and approached her. "Well, well, Miss Darkholme. It's nice to have you back among the living. We were getting worried for a while. At least I was, anyway. Everyone else seemed to have the utmost confidence in your recuperating abilities. They were here, by the way, until about five minutes ago. Most of them have been trading off between you, Miss Danvers, and Miss Pryde."

"Is Carol in here, too?" Rogue wondered.

"Yes, but she should be good as new in a few hours, as should you. We're just observing, really."

"Observing what?"

Clark sighed. "How good is your memory?"

"Ah know we touched." Rogue answered, recalling the strange exchange. She closed her eyes and concentrated, but none of Carol's memories remained in her. She tried to fly and couldn't. None of Carol's powers were inside of her, either. How long had she been in the infirmary?

"I've been told it's not common for you to lose consciousness after absorbing another person. That's why you're here. We're not sure what happened. On the one hand, the both of you have remained in perfect health. On the other hand…" He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he twisted up the end of his lips and smiled, "I'm fascinated by you, Miss Darkholme."

"Why?"

"I think I could help you. With your powers, I mean."

Her heart thudded briefly, the way it did every time someone said that. A fleeting feeling she was used to. "Oh?"

"Maybe once it's safe for me to return to the lab, you can join me there and we'll do some serious tests."

"Maybe."

"Of course I'd have to recommend you visit your mother, first."

Rogue looked up sharply and suddenly, Clark was holding an envelope. A _blue_ envelope. What was that, she wondered, two in a day? "You read my mail?" And there was an edge to her words.

"No. No, never." He smiled gently. "Just your file. And I have to tell you, one of the most common sources of power trouble is familial discord."

"Really." Sarcastically.

"I'm very serious. Just three months ago, I learned about a telepath who couldn't stop reading people's minds. The cause? An overbearing father. Before that, an illusionist who accidentally made so many copies of herself no one could find the real one. Turned out, she was nervous that a sibling would make everyone forget she existed."

"Ah don't think Mystique has anything ta do with this."

"Yes, well, they didn't think so, either. Sometimes we are too close to a situation to properly assess it."

"An' sometimes we aren't."

He looked at her, examining. "Pugnacious. Powerful sense of self-preservation. Yet somehow, considerate and thoughtful, too. Your file is a bit confusing until matched up with the three-dimensional version, you know."

Rogue just rolled her eyes.

* * *

So… he'd blown off Rogue for this.

Well, _blown off_ sounded so harsh.

Remy searched his brain for a better word, but none was forthcoming.

_Damn it._

He _had_ blown her off, harshness and all.

Still, he couldn't do it. Face Rogue on a regular basis and not tell her about Bella. It felt too much like lying and for once, he wanted something with someone that wasn't tainted with half-truths and mind games.

He kicked the mud up, onto the fence several feet away and glared like he possessed the ability to blow something up, just by looking at it. One of the wooden panels started to glow a bright pink, and he stopped, remembering just in time that he _did_ possess that ability.

After the initial pause, though, he let it explode.

Hell, _something _had to give. And the fence was damn ugly.

"Come on, Mate. Got to keep moving." John nudged him from behind with a large crate.

They'd become rather well paid movers as of late. Whatever Magneto was working on, it required the movement of some very large, heavy boxes from the front porch to the basement laboratory. Bella had excused herself from the exercise, citing an appointment that was oh, so vital to the continuation of sentient life on earth, and Sabertooth hadn't been seen since the shift of the polar ice caps, but the rest of them were busy at work.

Or were supposed to be busy at work. Remy rolled his eyes as John moved on past him, navigating that crate quite well, despite wearing an expression that looked like it belonged on an angry ax murderer. "Just want to get it over with," the Aussie breathed. "You know?"

"I know."

* * *

The second time Rogue woke up, she was alone.

She glanced around for any sign of Clark, but there was none.

Pulling at the wires, Rogue wondered how much she needed them and whatever medicine they were injecting into her bloodstream. Deciding that the meds couldn't be terribly important, she tugged the wires out all the way, wincing as tiny droplets of blood welled up and took their place. _Great, big and tough Rogue, suddenly squeamish at the sight of blood? _She ignored the urge to kick herself, and instead swung her feet over the side of the bed.

There were people talking in the distance. Had Kitty woken up? Standing up was easy; she wasn't dizzy at all. Usually, the medicine made her feel tipsy, like she was trying to maintain her balance while walking through clouds and sometimes her feel would fall through the powdery white lily pads of the sky.

She followed the sound of voices, until it became clear that Kitty wasn't the one attracting the attention at all; that was Carol's voice carrying through the area.

_On the other hand_, Clark had said. _What other hand? _What had been different about her absorption of Carol?

"I can't wait to get out of here," the blonde was saying.

"I can only imagine." Tabitha answered.

"But the professor wants me to stay so he can talk to me."

"About what?" Hmmm. Amara's voice.

"What I saw in Rogue's head."

Rogue blinked.

"How did that happen, anyway?" Tabitha again.

"I don't know. Wires got crossed, or something. I ended up having her memories instead of the other way around. Everyone's hoping to understand it all a little better."

"So what was in Rogue's head?"

"Memories. Feelings."

"Any good ones?"

_Any good ones?!_

Rogue gasped as a sharp pain pulled at her hands. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been clutching the wall while she listened, and her knuckles were even whiter than normal. She chided herself on acting so guilty. That wasn't going to do her reputation any favors.

"It's true, you know." Those words were close, just outside her ear. Rogue jerked her head around and saw Clark standing there, a polite smile across his face. "I was going to tell you about that, but you were so drowsy the first time you woke, I didn't think it was a fair way of letting you know that someone else had gained access to your mind. According to the file, privacy is very high on your list of priorities."

She strained to hear Carol's answer, but kept a watchful eye on Clark. "What happened?"

"My best guess is that her powers have some kind of natural resistance to yours. I believe that if this had happened a few months ago, you could've touched her without any kind of difficulty. No exchange, no worries. But you're growing stronger, and her immunity can't keep up. It took everything in her, and some of your energy too to keep her safe. If you touched again-"

"She wouldn't have anything left ta block me."

"And you might absorb her fully."

"Ya mean-"

"Avoid a second contact unless you like the idea of sharing your body with another person's psyche."

Rogue collapsed against the wall. "This sucks." She'd touched a lot of people, and regretted a fair amount of those contacts, but never had there been the threat of permanence. If the voices were already so loud, how much worse would it be if they were not just whispers of an actual person, but a full-fledged mind? And what about Carol… losing her body forever?

"How did ya find out that Carol had absorbed part o' me?"

"She woke up talking about someone. In French. To my understanding, that's not a language she's fluent in."

Rogue blanched. "Ah need…"

"What? Water? Support? Here, lean on my shoulder."

"Ah need ta talk ta Carol."

"Don't worry, you'll get the chance. Maybe in a…"

"No." She was firm. "Now."

Clark sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, ignoring as she tried to shake it off. "Miss Darkholme, you have to understand. The danger to Miss Danvers is extreme. Before the two of you are allowed in the same room again, it has to be approved by you, Miss Danvers herself, her mother, and Charles. Everyone must be informed of all of the risks and factors involved."

She was helpless, Rogue realized, as the words sunk in. She couldn't exactly go and defy the rules, because they made sense. She was dangerous to Carol. And she was the only who knew the full truth: Carol was dangerous to her, too.

Any good ones, Tabitha had asked.

_If only they knew_, a voice whispered.

_Worse yet, maybe they do._

"You're not looking at all well, I'm afraid. Can I help you back to your room?"

"Ah…"

"Rogue!" There was not any one person calling her name but many, and it rang like a chorus through the hall. Suddenly, hands were on and around her, embracing and pushing her away. Faces, smiling, and she felt like she'd just returned on a very long trip.

Kurt smiled. "I heard you'd be all right, but it's a brother's prerogative to vorry."

Scott nodded. "Can't afford to lose you, Rogue. I hear you handled the balloon situation really well."

And even Jean looked thoroughly relieved. "Don't let Scott fool you, he was scared to death he'd have no one to mediate between him and Logan on the next training mission. And he won't have a mediator; because there's no way you're going on a training mission tonight, not while you're still recovering. How do you feel, anyway?"

"I was just taking her back to the… room…" Clark frowned, and swallowed, looking beyond the small crowd. "Miss Danvers, perhaps I ought to explain the rules about contact again…"

There, just a few feet away, a pale Carol was leaning on Tabitha's arm for support. She wore a bright smile, but there was something wrong with it. A strangeness to her face. "I'm not going to avoid my friends." She said.

"We thought we'd join your conversation," Tabitha added cheerfully.

"We are all friends here, aren't we?" Carol asked, all but ignoring Tabitha. "I realize I'm the new one, but…"

"We're quick to adopt." Kurt assured her, pleasantly.

"You're quick to friendliness," Carol agreed, "but friendship is another matter. That's something that involves trust." The tone was just so, and Rogue could hear it being aimed at her.

"While we do like our privacy here," Jean conceded, shifting uncomfortably, obviously picking up on the awkward vibe floating in the air. "We make a point to trust each other. When you're in the line of fire, it's important to know that you can rely on the person standing next to you." She blinked, her features slipping into a frown.

Scott rubbed her arm. "Are you all right?"

"Carol… you're…" Jean let out a deep breath. "I don't…"

"What do you do when some breaks that trust?" Carol asked quietly. Tabitha pulled away suddenly; so that the she swayed a moment, but caught her bearings fast enough to maintain her balance.

"Miss Danvers." Clark said in a low, warning voice.

"Yeah," she answered, "what's a journalist doing here playing doctor anyway?"

She received no answer. "Rogue," she said finally, "I don't know why you touched me. I didn't do anything to warrant that contact."

"Ah didn't do it on purpose!" Rogue cried, feeling the creepy crawly sensation of eyes, watching her.

"There was no way that could've been an accident. Come on. Just tell me why? I didn't know anything about you and that… that _Gambit _character… I never even suspected."

"What does Gambit have to do with this?" Scott demanded, cradling Jean in his arms.

"They've been meeting." The redhead whispered. "She's projecting the images. I wish she'd stop."

"You've been meeting Gambit?" Scott asked, with just a hint of an accusation lining his words.

Rogue felt the wall behind her back and realized she couldn't retreat any further. "Ah…"

"How long?"

"Since around the time I came," Carol answered.

"Since our secret intruder appeared," Jean murmured.

"No!" Rogue said, wishing she could melt into the wall. Oh, if only…

"No, not since then? Then since when?"

"Vhy?" Kurt implored, suspicion clear in his eyes, like he was begging for an answer that would explain everything perfectly, but wasn't convinced she had one handy.

Rogue opened her mouth to explain, to tell them that she hadn't been trading secrets, only affections and hadn't Kitty done the same thing? The words were lingering on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said and heard. And it occurred to her that she'd never been so much on the defensive and… _why_?

She'd been _careful_.

She liked Remy, a lot, but she'd kept so much from him, anything that could possibly involve the X-Men, or the building they lived in, or the school they attended or…

Didn't they know she knew better than that?

_They don't know_, she told herself. _After all this time, they still don't know. They still think you're gonna go off and betray them with the first bad guy who winks in your direction? Carol's right about trust; it's necessary for friendship. And they aren't sharing it with you._

"Ah…" She tried again, willed the words to leave her lips. But they wouldn't. Because… She'd. Been. Careful.

"Rogue, don't you think we're entitled to an explanation?" Suddenly, staying far from Carol didn't seem like such a difficult task to manage. Something in her heart broke, and something hardened, and something flashed in her eyes. Cold, angry, no, furious. The others noted the change, because Jean sighed heavily, and Kurt took a step back, and Scott reached out with his hand, as if to touch her.

"Rogue," he said, using a Voice. A Voice was different than a voice. A voice was just a sound, just vibrating vocal chords. A Voice was planned manipulation, meant to bend her mood. She was having none of it.

"No." She pushed her way free from the mob, shaking her head, laughing a little, hurting more. She looked at them, at Clark, who'd fallen silent, obviously recognizing this was something beyond his grasp, at Carol, who wasn't the girl she'd imagined… and, she turned on her heels and left.

She knew exactly where to go.

* * *

Remy always knew romance novels were full of it. And by 'it', he meant garbage and lies and rather colorful, imaginative metaphors. He leaned against the bathroom sink, keeping the towel around his waist secured with a one hand, brushing sloppy hair from his face with the other. Romance novels, from what he'd heard, were full of muscled, longhaired, dashing heroes, who loved toiling out in the fields and getting hot and sweaty and being all around manly. Therein laid the lie, of course, because no sane man would actually want that: to slave away in the field, dousing his face with icy water when he could be slouching in a recliner, drinking beer, watching television, eating pizza, and all preferably in the company of a barely dressed, but attractive female. Where was that romance hero, he wanted to know.

Helping Magneto move equipment was not his idea of fun.

It didn't live anywhere near his idea of fun.

They didn't reside in the same universe.

He let out a sigh and made his way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where'd laid out his clothing. No elaborate uniform, just torn blue jeans and an old sweater. And Bella.

She'd returned and draped herself, rather attractively, on his desk, her hair tossed haphazardly to one side, legs crossed just so. Just so he'd notice, Remy thought dryly, making his way to his clothes, ignoring the girl. He picked up his bottoms, and his other necessities and moved to one corner where his bed could protect his modesty. The thought made him smile. Like he'd ever been modest.

"I saw y' father," she said conversationally.

"Oh?" He hadn't seen his family in a while.

"He misses y'."

"I'm sure he'll survive." LeBeau's were, if nothing else, survivors. Just look at him.

"I tol' him I'd like t' take y' home."

"What'd he say?"

She grinned. "Dat he'd like t' rule da world, an' we all oughta be used ta disappointment by now. Don't think he likes me, Remy."

"Neither do I." It wasn't as true as he'd like it to be, but it was true enough. He pulled up his zipper and came around for the sweater.

"Like an' love aren't da same." She pointed out.

"Y' right," he acknowledged, reasonably. "But let's not kid ourselves. Bot' are necessary if two people want t' live t'gether an' raise a family o' little children who will either like o' love one another."

"Is dat what you want, Remy? T' settle down and raise a family? Y' used t' want ta conquer da world. Marryin' me was just a formality."

He gave her a pointed look. "Maybe dat says somet'in', non?"

She sighed and stood. "I spent all day t'day t'inkin'. I never imagined it would be like dis, Remy. I t'ought you were just waitin' for me t' come and sweep y' on back home. Should a' known better. Remy LeBeau waits for no one, not even a girl he claimed t' love." She bit her lip. "When I realized it was different, two options were clear: go on back alone, o' fight whatever _thing_ had hooked after me."

He fought the urge to protest her use of the word 'thing'. Rogue was more than that; she was soft -at least she looked soft- friendly, protective, passionate, humorous, loveable…

"But every day it seems like I'm sinkin' lower an' lower in yo' esteem." Bella scrunched her nose. "Tell me how t' convince you Remy, o' convince me it's over. I still can't believe that."

"It's over." He said quietly.

"Why?"

"Why?" He rolled his eyes. "Y' tried t' kill me."

"I've done dat before an' been forgiven."

"Y' changed an' I changed an' da new us aren't compatible."

"How have I changed?" She was defensive.

"Y' turned into Two Face!" Remy cried. "One minute it's oh, how nice, how wonderful da world. An' da next, y' pullin' y' knife outta m' back. I don't even know if dis is genuine, o' just another trick."

"Remy," she whined softly.

"No." He faced her, eye to eye. He frowned. "Why aren't wearin' dat necklace?" Because around her neck, Rogue's cross dangled. It was wrong, all wrong. Out of place and downright ugly.

"Y' had it around. I was just messin'."

"Take it off."

"Convince me it's over."

"Take it off." He repeated.

"Make me." She said back.

His shoulders sagged. "How?"

"Tell me da truth. Why is it over?"

"I'm in love wit' someone else."

She drew back, shrank away. "What?"

"I'm in love," he said again, "wit' someone else."

She studied him, a myriad of expressions parading across her face. Disbelief, as she waited for the punch line. Confusion, because how could he be in love with anyone but her. Anger, because how dare he be in love with anyone that wasn't her. Sadness, because he might actually be in love with someone that wasn't her.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"A kiss." She repeated, and he looked to her for that sneaky, sultry smile, or coy bat of the eyelashes, but the girl before him seemed serious and honest. The girl he could've loved, or rather, _had loved_, for quite some time. And that was… unsettling.

"Why?"

"Because I could always tell what you were t'inkin' an' feelin' through yo' kisses." She sighed, dropping down to the chair and drawing her legs up into her arms. "I remember tastin' the emotion. God, no one else in the world is like dat, Remy. No one can do dat. So if y' want t' convince me, t' make me sure yo' sure, den a kiss it is."

"An' you'll go away?"

"Well," she sighed, "I am under contract wit' Eric, y' know."

"Money's not an' issue."

"No, but m' word is."

"_Bella_," and it was almost a whine, because he was so tired of this game.

"Fine." She was almost glum about it. "I'll break m' word an' go on back home if I taste love f' someone else."

Just curious, he asked, "What does it taste like?"

"I don't know. I'm guessin' bitter."

Remy nodded. He rubbed his hands on jeans, and God, was that nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach? Yes, a voice answered, it was nervousness, because this was like a test. Did he care so much about Rogue that someone else could taste it on his mouth? Banishing all fears, Remy blinked and then leaned forward. His mouth found Bella's and there was a pleasant buzzing feeling in his head but-

"_This is his bedroom. Let me open the door for you_."

-It wasn't any better than a drink of good champagne.

"A break?" The voice that spoke was low and broken.

He tore himself away from Bella, slid the backside of his hand across his mouth, and looked with horrified eyes to see Rogue standing there, looking something less than well. Her expression was one of loss and exhaustion and so much anger. Her eyes darted between him and Bella, before finding something of interest.

"Chere, I can explain."

"Is that my necklace?" This time, it wasn't low and it wasn't broken. Like an arrow, her words were sharp, crisp.

Bella reached back and tried to unlock the clasp around her neck, but Rogue beat her to it, grabbing the cross and ripping it away so quickly even the steely assassin flinched. "Ya stole my necklace an' gave it t' her?"

"Roguey, I-" If he could just explain…

"Although, really, it makes perfect sense. So long as yo' trickin' the x-girl, why not pick up a few presents for y' fiancé while y' at it."

"She's not m' fiancé." Remy said.

"No. What are y', married now?" Rogue cried. "After what Ah did, an'-"

"Rogue, _please_."

He stopped then, because she screamed. No words. No accusations. Just… screamed.

Loud.

Piercing.

And then…

Gone.

Remy moved to follow her, but a hand caught his. He looked over a shoulder and saw Piotr. "Let her go," the Russian advised.

He'd go to hell before he let the Russian get away with another one of _those_ comments. "I don't know where y' get off givin' me advice, Colossus. Everyone here knows yo' betrayin' yo' own convictions every time y' sleep in dis house. An' just now, when y' could've done somethin' 'cause y' damn well know dat I care 'bout her, but y' stayed silent. Let me give you some advice, _mon ami_. It's not gon' get easier. One day soon y' gon' wake up an' realize dat y' can't stand da sight o' yo' own face in da mirror an' all o' dis is gon' make you sick t' yo' stomach." Remy leaned closer, lowered his voice. "An' if I'm around, Petey, I'm really gon' laugh."

He tore himself away and started running.

Outside, the rain had just begun.

* * *

**A little Later…**

So, she had connections.

Or rather, Mystique had connections, which she had finally decided to utilize.

A private jet that the X-Men couldn't track.

Money that paid the taxi fare.

Inside, she ached. She was desperately tired, but her eyes wouldn't close. To have trusted them all… and they never returned that sentiment. It was stupid of her to think that the X-Men would've ever forgotten her life with Mystique. Stupid to imagine that Remy was anything more than a sleazy lackey. Irene was the only one who'd always been there for her. More or less there, at any rate. Give or take little lies, but compared to everything else…

Besides, she was a Darkholme, and maybe she couldn't escape that after all.

Maybe she didn't want to.

For all of Mystique's trickery, the shape-shifter was always in control, never seemed overly hurt or pained.

The taxicab slowed to a halt, and the pudgy driver smiled back at her. "We're here. That'll be eight dollars and fifty cents, if y' please, ma'am."

She handed him the money -too much, but she didn't care. At least someone would be having a good day.

It was raining. Pouring. Thundering. Lightening flashed over her head like some kind of cosmic warning, but she didn't heed it. She was home, in Mississippi, with Irene.

It felt so familiar to walk that curvy stone path up to the door. The roses on the side were having a difficult time with the weather, but they seemed strong. They would last.

And so would she.

Rogue raised a fist and knocked loudly on the door. It took a moment, but soon the brass knob turned and the door peeked open. A young man stared back at her with curious blue eyes. "Rogue," he breathed, like it was honor for her to show up. He smiled widely and opened the door. "Please, Irene's in the kitchen. Waiting for you. It's a pleasure to meet you, I've heard so much…"

She moved past him. He called after her.

"Oh, I'm uh, Joseph, by the way."

* * *

Well, been waiting for that line since I agreed to make this more than a one shot. Ha. Don't say I didn't warn you. I offered a hint a few chapters back, and if you recognize it, give yourself a cookie. Well, tootles for now! Review and get a prize. Don't review and get… a pout.

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo. Drop me a line anytime.


	11. Eleven

_**Sorry for the lateness… in the spirit of conciseness… scroll down to you see the chappy. **_

Dreamcatcher89: You're a paranoid person? Ah, me too! And heck, because you're so cool… you get the cookie, anyway. Thanks so much for reviewing. Do it again some time.

IvyZoe: You're wish for a Rogue/Joe flirtation is a common one, apparently. Maybe there will be cause for him to be a wee bit jealous. As for all those other speculations, well… you'll have to read more! Ha. Thanks.

Lady Godiva: I wish I could make things easy for Remy and Rogue but… oh, wait. I can. Aw, but who would read that story? Thanks for the interest and review again.

Silver Ink: Remy was sort of mean to Petey, but he was in a foul mood, too. And maybe our favorite Russian could use that jolt? Maybe. Thank you for the review!

Cult-of-Misha: I like your name. It sounds fun. Hope you enjoy this chapter, too.

Sweety8587: Hey… could I borrow that flamethrower? And no, I would never use it on current X-writers. :)

Fudje: The fence was asking for it! A month counts as soon… right? I'm sorry. Review anyway. Ha.

Sinister Bra: I absolutely loved your reviews. I loved that 'aha!' sense you seemed to have. I won't confirm or disprove a thing you said (mostly because I'm a cruel, cruel person) but perhaps this chapter will? I really do hope you review again, hearing what you think is so much fun! Thanks a bunch.

Emerald K: I shake my head at you, o' review who hasn't read the chapter!

Speck: You know, you reviewed another fic and I never got to thank you. Or say that I would most definitely chose an African swallow, since they'd be more able to carry that one-pound coconut. Even if they are non-migratory. I love how paranoid and suspicious of circumstances you sound. For confirmation or not, read on! And thanks so very much.

Dark Wolf Girl15: Hey, thanks a bunch! You rock!

BananaPanda: Where am I going with Clark? Heck, I don't even know! Okay, I totally do, but still… if I answered all questions, where would the mystery be? Thanks for the interest. Hope to see you soon!

Dreamschemer: How do I cover up the fact that I'm blue? Well, I do what all non-shape shifting blue people do: use an image inducer! Ha. Yay! Cookies. Me love cookies. Me… er, right. Glad you enjoyed my take on the Carol-Rogue exchange.

Ishandahalf: You say you're going insane, but really, doesn't that imply you aren't already there? I think perhaps I won't discuss the presence of Joseph because it seems to make you… uh… not react at all well. And, at the moment, I am in need of this life of mine, however pitiful it may be. So I'll just smile and calmly step back. Right. That seems like a good plan… (btw, you know a lot of people want Joe and Rogue to have a thing…hmm…do I go with what you want, or popular opinion?)

Moonjava, AnimeSiren, raye, and enchantedlight: Cookies and champagne, for all of you! Thanks!

Chica De Los Ojos Café: Hey where did we go, days when the rains came? Okay, sorry, I just can't see your name and not think of that song. It's catchy! Thanks for the review.

Fudgebrownie: Coconuts are the best ever! Joseph was a Magneto clone guy that Rogue once brought home, this stirring up jealousy and tension. Fun, neh?

Rebel Rogue: Yes, Joe is and thanks, oh, so much! You rule! Come again?

Rosalina: You'd be surprised how many people have shared your opinion of Joe! Wow. I expected torches and such! Thanks for the interest and the review and the new review you're gonna give me riiiiight now. :)

MwrulesC: I'm glad you like the way this all played out! I'm even gladder you reviewed! Thanks!

**We've Met Before**

**Chapter Eleven**

The knock was furious, like thunder in a stormy sky, a sound not to be ignored. But Scott Summers almost didn't care. He was too busy thinking about… well… Rogue. As a persistenthand kissed the wood hard, again and again, he gave strong consideration to possibility of ignoring it completely. Because if he pulled back that knob and found a squirmy man peddling vacuum cleaners, there was a very real chance he'd lose his mind and blast the salesman into the next city. Unfortunately, the manners won out, and he stepped up to the door, a frustrated 'hello' all ready on his tongue.

A 'hello' that morphed, rapidly, into a "What the hell do you want?"

The Cajun met him with dark and depthless eyes, cold, burning, daring at the same time. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, though, and awkward posture suggested he'd at least temporarily traded in insolence and arrogance for something more humble. "Can I talk t' Rogue?"

"I'd like to help you," Scott said, and that was mostly a lie, "but she isn't in."

The Cajun ran his tongue along a chafed lower lip and nodded. "It's… important."

"Then I'm sorry."

"_Please_?"

Scott crossed his arms and frowned. "Does Magneto know the two of you are dating?"

Gambit frowned a bit. "Not exactly. Rogue… she told you? About us?"

Scott shook his head in response. "Not exactly," he said, borrowing the phrase. "We learned that you were spending a considerable amount of time together. Either the two of you were dating, or she was selling information. I seriously doubt it was the latter."

"Oh," Gambit answered.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's a personal matter," the Cajun stressed.

"That's not what I meant. You didn't know I knew about you and Rogue, but you came here anyway. If this afternoon hadn't happened, your appearance here would've been a huge surprise and Rogue's privacy would've been violated. So my question to you is… why?"

He heard a sigh, and recognized frustration. Apparently, that sentiment was all the rage. Gambit looked up at him then, and something red flickered, as though Scott had inadvertently woken a fire-breathing dragon lying deep in the core of Remy's being. His fingers dug a bit into the wood; he'd read all the files on the Acolytes, knew all about the Cajun's powers of persuasion. But no weak, the Summers mind, aided by his psionic bond with a powerful telepath, and he felt he had a fairly good chance of holding his own with the Cajun.

But…

The test of wills was not to be held on the porch of Xavier's school, as something beeped and Jean's voice filled the property. "_Scott, we need you down here. It's Kitty_."

He nodded as if she could see him, and motioned to shut Gambit out.

"_Oh, and… I think you should bring Gambit. I think we need to talk to him, too_."

He pursed his lips, thinking… _Damn it!_

* * *

Reunions on television were always quite the spectacle, especially reunions of the estranged mother-daughter variety. Their eyes would meet and emotional walls, grown tall and hard from years of drama and angst, would sink as though in quicksand. The daughter would rush on speedy toes to regain the sacred comfort of her mother's arms, and the pair of them would feel at once as though they'd never been separated. There would be considerable amounts of sobbing, lots of embracing, and not a few repeated words of comfort passed between them. 

Darkholme reunions were, on the other hand, quite different. Rogue didn't know if that was because they were better at bottling up emotions, or just more real than the broadcasted families. Whatever the reason, her return to Mississippi found her and Irene sitting quietly at opposite ends of the oak table, two mugs of steaming coffee and a small plate of chocolate chip cookies between them.

"Where's Mystique?" She wondered.

"Called away, unexpectedly. We anticipate her return within the next three days. She wanted to be here."

"Ah'm sure there was some building filled with innocent civilians that needed exploding."

"Rogue-"

"An important diplomat on his way ta the UN who had ta be exterminated."

"_Rogue_-"

"An big scientific breakthrough that might've cured cancer but posed a possible threat fifty years from now."

"Rogue!" Irene said. "Stop it. We aren't in the business of murder for murder's sake. Sometimes, drastic steps need to be taken. Do you have any idea what kind of world you'd be living in if people like Mystique weren't around?"

"A good one," Rogue snorted.

"No, Rogue. A world where people like that General Stryker on TV could go about unchecked. They'd could have us lined up against the walls by now, or strapped up on a laboratory table."

Rogue swallowed her sigh along with a gulp of coffee. This was going to get her nowhere. Luckily, Joseph chose that time to re-enter the kitchen, a box of chocolate truffles in hand. "I thought you might want to celebrate a little," he explained, settling the candy on the center of the table. "I bought these just for the occasion."

In the kitchen lighting, everything about him was a little more exposed. The silver of his hair, the gray of his eyes closer to translucent, the genuine expression… she couldn't have imagined anyone who looked less like Remy. Yet, oddly, he was familiar. She turned towards Irene. "Have y'all noticed he looks an awful lot like-"

"Yes." Irene answered.

"Where'd he come from?"

Her questions earned her a sigh. "We aren't sure. Mystique found him, bloodied and unconscious. His body has since returned to adequate health, but his memory is incomplete. All he can remember is the name Joseph, and for all we know it's the name of his favorite soap opera star."

"Except," Joseph interjected, stealing a place for himself at the table. "I don't like soap operas."

"Ya have amnesia," Rogue stated. She knew what that was like.

"Yes."

"He does have full command of his studies, though. Him being an engineer and all, we hired him for a very important project. One I believe will have great significance for you, Rogue."

"It's called the Chamber right now," Joseph explained. "And current plans keep it stationary, but I believe once I actualize the thing, I'll be able to find a way to make it mobile."

"Y'all have kind o' lost me," Rogue said. "What does this Chamber do?"

"Grants the fair lady her fondest desire," Joseph said with a smile. "It negates the x-gene. Specifically gives you back your ability to make physical contact."

* * *

The first and most important thing both men noticed was that Katherine Pryde was awake. Head propped up on a fluffy pink pillow and still bandaged on random parts of her body, she sipped quietly from a striped straw held up to her lips by Jean Grey. Still visibly sick –for she lacked that vibrant, glowing quality that seemed so fundamentally _her_- Kitty spared a look at them. 

"Hey," Scott said, scooting up behind the bed, grinning encouragingly. "You're awake."

She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a garbled 'duh'.

"It was the noise," Jean said after a moment, speaking in that detached tone that always meant she was interpreting someone else's thoughts. "We- the screaming was really loud, I guess."

"Sorry," Scott responded.

"She's glad. Her dreams of have been haunted."

"By what?"

Jean frowned and removed the water glass away from the brunette girl.

"Carol." Kitty whispered on her own, grimacing a bit. "She… did this."

Scott shifted uncomfortably at the accusation. "Kitty, we talked to her after. She was really broken up by the accident." He paused as the girl rolled her eyes. "What is it?"

A glance up, and then Jean was speaking again. "They were training together in the courtyard, her and Carol, and she had to use the restroom. After she was through, she decided that phasing through the walls would be a quicker way to get back, instead of using the doors like normal people. As a result, she was caught Carol off guard. Carol was on the phone to someone. The subject of conversation sounded incriminating. Kitty meant to sneak back inside and tell someone, but she stumbled and Carol noticed."

"And attacked her." Scott said.

"Yes."

"What was the phone call about?"

"They mentioned Carol's mission. And something about… Falcon Four!" That last part came out a gasp, and was all Jean. The redhead's eyes went wide. "Oh my God, _Falcon Four_. I know who they are. Way back when we first rescued Wolverine from the Weapon X project, I sifted through a lot of minds to find his location. There were a lot of mentions of Falcon Four… a black ops program designed to train mutants to be government soldiers."

"We need to talk to Carol. Right. _Now_."

"She's… gone."

"What?"

Jean sighed. "She's not on the grounds anymore."

"Hey," Kitty whispered, sounding rasp, "Where's Rogue?"

"She ran away," Gambit answered, for the first time stepping up to join the X-Men. He gave the girl an even stare. "She came t' see me an' was… visibly upset, but caught us at a bad time."

"Bad how?" That was from Kurt.

"I was… kissin' me ex-fiancé. It didn't mean nothin'…. It was goodbye, but she didn't…" He looked down.

"_Crap_." All eyes turned to Jean, who at least blushed before going on. "The argument here would've been just before she showed up at Gambit's. No wonder she wasn't in the mood for explanations. Carol accidentally absorbed Rogue –don't ask how- and kind of… let the cat out of the bag, in regards to her relationship with Gambit. I'm afraid we weren't very good at responding."

"You didn't… blame her?" Kitty sighed.

"No." Scott said, firmly. "We wouldn't. We were just… surprised. Look, if someone drops something heavy on your toe, you're going to scream, right? It doesn't mean you think it was dropped intentionally. If she'd have given us a few more minutes to digest everything…"

"We have to find her." Kurt insisted.

"And Carol."

"Hey… Kit's awake!" Jubilee bounced in the room, grinning at the lot. "This is awesome! How are Rogue and Carol doing?"

"Uh…"

"Never mind. I'll check myself. I just wanted to say that we finished running the scans on those possible clues and we definitely found something. It seems our little invader was a familiar face after all… Pietro."

"Just what we need." No one was sure if Scott was sarcastic, not even himself. "Anything else?"

"Well, just that I can't find Mr. Clark anywhere. Mr. McCoy wanted to talk to him about something."

* * *

It might've been her spiteful imagination, but the punching bag looked shockingly like she remembered Remy LeBeau: red, puffy, and just begging to be beaten. She kept the shifting object under her control with small but powerful punches on either of its sides, and paused only occasionally to wipe away errant strands of white hair that snuck onto the front of her face and clung to the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead. 

One punch, as she thought about the Carol, all false frailty and quiet accusations.

A punch for Scott, whose features never lost their careful schooling during any _real_ crisis: not when an enemy was trying to decapitate or spear or flay them, not when Jean had brought home a drunken Duncan and asked that he be allowed to room with Scott for the night, because if his parents found out… not even when the time the professor had mysteriously vanished for a week without so much as a 'bye, you'll be raising yourself for the next few days'. But one little suggestion that she'd spent time with Remy and, lo and behold, he could look shocked.

A punch for Jean, who hadn't exactly accused her of anything and wasn't that just typical? Depriving Rogue even of reasonable anger.

A slightly smaller punch for Kurt, because hadn't they finally been working towards some semblance of a family?

It wasn't easy, with that thin thread of resentment and misunderstanding, but it was going _somewhere_. Or not, she thought, tossing back her head and inhaling deeply. Maybe families couldn't be made like that, by choice and effort. You got what you were born with, plain and simple.

A punch for Tabitha, whom she'd never been very close to, but who'd been holding up Carol, of all people, and why hadn't Rogue used a much more biting, vicious attack in their verbal sparring? She could've -for all of Tabitha's rebellious habits and devil may care façade- split the blonde girl open with words, could've torn apart her head and done it with a smirk at that. And after all, Tabitha had sought out that darker side… the darker side, however, had wanted and fought for _Rogue_.

And then there was Remy. She narrowed her eyes and centered her punches, hitting the bag square on repeatedly. The old one-two; she hit it until her arms ached, and still the seething rage inside of her didn't subside.

"This is about a guy, isn't it?"

She tossed a careless glance over her should to see Joe leaning against the far wall, ankles crossed, hands lost in the pockets of clean black pants. He wore something like a smile, and looked up at her from underneath that semi-veil of silver-white hair. Grey eyes were piercing. "They say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I guess it's true, though I'm left wondering who could ever scorn _you_."

"It's not about a guy," she lied.

"Oh?"

"It's about tryin' ta fit in where ya don't belong."

He cocked his head to the side. "Are you trying to insinuate that I should leave?"

She blinked at that. She hadn't considered that at all. "No, Ah was… talkin' about myself."

"And your old home in Bayville?" Joseph nodded, moving closer. He gestured for her to give him her hands, and she did, staring blankly while he unwrapped the cloth binding them and readjusted it to better cover the parts of her hands that had were red from the punches.

"Ah…" She broke off and narrowed her eyes. "Why do you know about that?"

He shrugged. "Can I ask you a question, Rogue?"

"No."

"Come on." He pouted, and it was a strange look on him, the jutting low lip. He wasn't unattractive… and, okay, he was very not unattractive. His eyes sparkled. "Rogue…"

"Ugh." She pulled away and turned back to the bag. "Fine. One question." She fisted her hands again and resumed her attack on the bag. One punch, one kick, one pivot-

"Do you believe it's possible to fall in love with a picture?"

At the moment, she seriously doubted the possibility of love itself. "No."

"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "Well… I can see how it's hard for someone to make that leap of faith. But supposing you walked the halls adorned with pictures of this person every single day, and you memorized the sight of this person's face. You started wondering what it would take to make a smile like that, and how much you'd like to see it in person. Can you understand that?"

Rogue let the bag alone for just a moment and faced Joseph again. "What are ya tryin' ta say?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets again and gave her a quirky smile. "I'm here if you need to talk, Rogue. That's all."

* * *

Pietro yawned and flipped the channel on the TV. News, cartoons, news, news, Buffy, news; there was nothing on. Well, at least nothing he hadn't already seen or had any interest in seeing. Mutants were meant to make news, not watch it glumly on boring brown sofas.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up. "What do you want now?"

"Our plans have changed. You need to come with me."

* * *

Hmm. What's going on? Hey, I'd love to hear what you think! You can email me, IM, or at least review with your theories. You know you want to (I shouldn't say that… last time I did, no one wanted to…) Along with theories, questions, comments, and coconuts can be directed to my yahoo account, where I'm Eileenblzr. See ya soon! (Promise this time). 


	12. Twelve

Another day, another chapter, another chance to review! But first, for those who need no urging…

IvyZoe: Scott knows how to prioritize. He may not like Remy much, but that's so not the biggest problem at the moment, you know? As for Joseph's origin… I can't say too much, except that I hope in the end you aren't disappointed. Thanks for the review!

Chica De Los Ojos Café: It is indeed Rogue that Joe was talking about. Ha ha! Thanks for the review and come again!

Sangofanatic, Kairi-heartilly, Gina, NameBilly: Hiya, all! Loved the reviews and I've been thinking about passing out treats to you, but I don't know what to give. Any suggestions? The sky's the limit! Provided, of course, that you come and review again!

Sweety8587: Please refrain from killing the main characters. The author, while giggling at the thought, would have a lot of explaining to do. Thanks!

Oh, and thanks for letting me know about the weird chapter mix-up. For that, you get an extra treat: cookies!

Ishandahalf: Now that the truth about Carol has been revealed, I must say that of everyone, you were the most stubborn in your suspicion of her. I tried to make her seem innocent and a lot of people grudgingly gave in. But not you, Ishy. I don't know if it's because you know me too well or just happen to be paranoid by nature or both? Anyway, congrats.

ColossusR: So…I'm guessing you are most assuredly not in the Pro Joe Camp. It is a bit convenient that he's there, but who knows, it could be just a weird twist of fate. Of course it's me, so it could also be a key factor in the story. Glad you like it so far! Hope to see you again!

Emi13: It wasn't a line you've been waiting to hear, but a line I've been waiting to write, actually. I'm glad you liked the story. Can't believe you read it all in one sitting! Cool beans, my friend.

Katya: You can't stay mad at me? Awwww. I still feel bad. So bad. Grr. Carol, while maybe not flat out evil, is certainly cold-hearted. Hee.

Betrayed Daughters: Seems weird referring to you like this. I forgot you liked KP too! I must mention this in our next discussion! Thanks!

Lady Godiva: Joseph actually is more or less around Rogue's age. He does have silvery hair, but in the manner of Pietro. It would indeed be strange if he were Remy's father, but keep in mind that while I don't follow the comic continuity exactly here, it's still loosely based around it. Hee. Love your reviews! Thanks!

MWRulesC: Glad you like the story. Some times I feel like there are so many threads I have to tie together that I won't be able to tie them all in. But, we take a huge step in linking things together in this chapter. Hope you like it!

Wanted: Originally, I wanted this to be a one-shot, but a group of reviewers –and one in particular- convinced me to continue. Thanks so much!

Goddess Evie: You LIVE! Thank goodness! I've missed you around here! You used the word dastardly, which is oh, so fun as far as words go.

I agree that Bella needs to go away. Far, far away. Maybe, now that she's thrown a wrench in the Rogue/Remy machine, she will? We can hope.

Neurotic Temptress: Yay! Long time no see! Well, in the review column anyway. I'm glad you didn't see the Carol thing coming. Ha ha! I delight in my surprises. Glad you like the tying in of Joseph, as well! I'm trying to keep him from being too bland, but he is definitely the safer choice for Rogue. I just have to figure out who she's going to choose.

RandiRogue: Thank you so much, it pleases me that you're pleased. Honestly, I look forward to the chance to write Joe a little more. He will play an increasingly important role in this story, I think. Hope to see you again! Love to hear what you think.

**Chapter 12 **

"Everything we've worked for will be lost if you keep pacing like that instead of acting."

Upon hearing the strained urgency in the voice speaking to him, Pietro did something unusual and rather uncharacteristic. He paused. Hands sunk deep in baggy jeans, hair unkempt; he stood motionless watching his visitor watch him. The seconds passed like shooting stars, faint and removed flickers that were gone as soon as they came. At last, he bowed his head and asked, "What's going on?"

Carol floated two inches or so in the air, just enough to make her hair bob dramatically, as though she were swimming in the air. "The X-Men have found out about Rogue and Gambit."

His eyes widened. "But _she_ was supposed to come here after that. Not you."

His comment earned him a sneer. "Really? I'd _completely_ forgotten."

"The deal-"

"I know." Carol sighed. "That is why you have to act now."

"You expect me to use my father's teams to attack the X-Men, just spur of the moment like this?"

The blonde furrowed her brow. "If you don't, they're going to go after her and resolve their issues before she's ever had the chance to consider you. Is that what you want? And don't forget, this is all I've asked of you. I help you win over Rogue and in exchange you use your influence over the teams for me just one little time."

"That's the deal," Pietro conceded. But… "Why did you propose that, anyway? Where is your gain?"

"That's my business. You just do what you have to. Arrange for a-"

"Rumble in the park?" Pietro teased. "What is this, _West Side Story_?"

"Just arrange for it. Today. Soon," Carol stressed.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "You're telling me to hurry up?"

* * *

"Survey says…Rogue went to…Timbuktu." Scott turned a skeptical gaze to Jean, who shrugged. "She might've for all we know. For someone traveling in such a hurry, she covered up her tracks remarkably well. I've called airports, cab services, train stations… nada. How are we supposed to find her?"

"Maybe we won't start with her just yet. She may need time alone." Scott said, "Let's theorize for a minute here. Pietro was the one leaving messages for us, right? It's probably a safe assumption to say that Carol was the one helping him out –but _why_? What would a black ops agent want with Pietro and us? And why does the doctor disappear in the moments after Carol and Rogue leave?"

"Maybe a soda run?" Kitty offered quietly from her bed. She turned away from the looks her teammates gave her. "Right. Not the time for jokes."

"Since we can't find Rogue, we should shift the focus of our search to Danvers. Her piece in this puzzle is huge."

"According to security cameras, she just…flew away."

"What direction?"

"You're thinking maybe she went to see Pietro."

"She doesn't know that we know about his involvement." Scott reminded them.

"So what?" Gambit wondered, "Y' gon' storm da place?"

"No," Came the firm answer. "We're not going to _storm_ ze place." Kurt looked cross. Understandable.

Scott scratched his chin. "Actually, I was considering it-" the blaring of the security alarm interrupted him. "Jean?"

"It's…" She furrowed her brow, and then lightened in surprise. "Pietro."

"He's here?"

"I'll talk t' him." Gambit said, motioning to stand. A hand on his shoulder held him down.

"No. Wait. Maybe- whatever he wants, we can use this to our advantage." Scott let out a breath. "I've got an idea."

* * *

**Fifteen Minutes Later…**

A phone rang.

Someone answered it.

"_Okay. It's done_."

"Done?"

"_They don't know where Rogue is either, but I told them I did. They think she needs time to calm down, so we're going to meet tomorrow. I promised I'd give them a nudge in the right direction. Gambit was there_."

"I expected as much. They were dating."

"_You knew? You didn't say anything_."

"It won't matter soon enough, all right?"

"_Carol…_"

"You're not your father, Quicksilver. That voice isn't very intimidating. You're sure the Brotherhood knows where to be and what to do."

"_My father isn't going to like this_."

"No." Carol agreed. "But he can't be any harsher on you than he already was on Gambit, right?"

"_Tomorrow at ten. You'll be there, too_?"

"I suppose."

* * *

**The Next Day…**

Rogue was up to watch the dawn. By the time the sun peeked over the eastern hills, she'd showered, dressed, and found a comfortable perch on a large, curved tree branch in the backyard of the house. She rested her back up against the hard bark, allowed her head, covered in damp ringlets, to loll sideways, and watched the brilliant sun ascend. It felt good.

Suddenly, there was a crunch. She craned her neck to get a better view, peering below the twisted branches and above the fallen leaves. "Joe?"

He looked at her, but almost in surprise. "Rogue. I didn't know you were out here. Honest," he added, quickly. "I usually come out here early in the mornings just to kind of… look around. But then, you're probably out here for some privacy. I'll go."

"Wait." Rogue didn't know why she said it. He was right; she was after privacy, but the word had to have come from her mouth, because he was frozen in place by the sticky glue of uncertainty, watching her carefully like a child used to being teased. Why, he seemed to ask. She still didn't know, though it might've had something to do with Remy and how utterly unlike the Cajun Joe was.

They were so different. Remy was scruffy, rough around the edges, and intense. Joe was…softer, somehow, safer, _nicer_. Accepting, rather than searching. Like cool salve for the places in her Remy had burned to the core. And she really could use someone to talk to.

"Wait," she repeated slowly, so she could make sure that they words really were coming out of her mouth. "Ah don't… Ah don't want ta be mean."

"You're not-"

"No, Ah mean always. When Ah was little, me an' the other girls never got on. Ah never fit in. Ah didn't dress like the other girls, Ah didn't listen ta their music, idolize the same boys. Ah just kind o' learned ta stay away from 'em, ya know? When you're ten, it doesn't really occur ta you that people with different interests can be friends. Figured, they got their world an' Ah got mine. Never the 'tween shall meet. When my powers manifested, things got worse. There were just a million an' one reasons for me ta keep ta myself. It took a while before Ah started feelin' at home in New York."

She sighed. "Ah went ta bed last night feelin' like crap because Ah trusted the wrong guy, made a bigger mess o' my family life, an' it just felt like everything inside o' me was spiralin' out o' control. Must've slept miserably for two hours before Ah realized the problem."

"What is it?"

"It's me. Ah had this –Ah guess it was a dream 'fore Ah left Bayville. Ah was sort o' yellin' at myself. Didn't completely understand what it wanted o' me. Not until last night."

"What do you want of yourself, Rogue?"

She smiled, just barely. "Personal responsibility. Ah made the choice ta trust Remy, should've stayed after for the consequences. Ah told my friends that they didn't trust me after Ah put my faith in 'em, but Ah didn't, not really. If Ah'd a' trusted 'em, Ah would've told 'em about Remy a long time ago. An' honestly, all this time o' runnin' away from Mystique an' denyin' her…that was a mistake, because in the end she is my mother an' Ah do love her, even if the sight o' her makes me sick sometimes."

Joseph crossed his arms. "You're not the same person you were last night."

"No." Rogue shook her head. "Ah'm better."

He narrowed his eyes. "Now that you've had this revelation, you're not going home."

"Joe," Rogue said, jumping down to land neatly on the floor. She brushed off her pants and placed a hand on his arm. "Ah am home."

* * *

**Elsewhere…**

Carol Danvers met Quicksilver outside a warehouse. The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. She looked it over. "Isn't this a little cliché?"

He crossed his arms and gave a short shrug. "I like it here."

She kicked a stone, sending it skidding across the warm black pavement. It ended up embedded in a metal pole. "Figures."

Pietro glanced over her. "New clothes?" She wore a simple black cat suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Like nothing he'd ever seen her wear before, yet somehow more fitting than all her other looks. There had always been a cold, calculating quality to her; now, it was on open display.

"It's nearly ten."

"I know."

"And the Brotherhood is-"

"In the warehouse, hiding, waiting for the ambush."

"Good," she said. She started walking.

"Hey," Pietro called after her, "Where are you going?"

Carol blinked. "Inside the warehouse. You don't expect me to wait outside with you? They'll _know_."

"Oh. Right." Pietro waved her off. "Fine, fine. Go inside where it's safe." He remained facing the horizon, but turned at the last minute to smile at her shrinking figure. He could be cold and calculating, too.

* * *

The minute she stepped inside, Carol felt the betrayal. She tried to step back, but something was holding her in place. Shutting her eyes, she tried to concentrate, to break whatever mental hold someone –not someone, Jean Grey- had over her, but it was too strong. After a minute of struggled, she felt herself lift off the ground and float towards the back of the warehouse where, sure enough, the X-Men were waiting.

She studied them. "I don't suppose you'd believe that Quicksilver forced me into this?"

"Carol," Scott said.

"Just checking."

He folded his arms. "We have some questions."

"I hate to rain on your parade, but just about everyone has a few of those."

"She's annoying as hell, isn't she?" The cocky voice came from behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "_Quicksilver_."

"Don't say I betrayed you, Carol. You were using me the whole time. BoythatPietroisreallystupid, huh?" He zipped around and took up a stance between Nightcrawler and Cyclops. "A black ops division? What are you doing around here? I want to know, they want to know…it seemed only natural that we team-up together. For a few minutes, anyway."

"Cyclops, if you really think that I'm going to tell you anything, you're crazier than-"

"Actually," Jean Grey cleared her throat. "I'll be handling the interrogation today. If you just follow me this way…" She flicked her wrist, and Carol was moving again. They traveled outside the back door of the warehouse, into the bright open space until Jean found a place she liked.

Bouncing in midair, as though suspended by an invisible cord, Carol struggled for her freedom. But the redhead controlling her movement was unperturbed. "You're not going to get away, so I suggest you start talking."

"Okay," Carol laughed. "What's your favorite baseball team?"

"I want to know what you've been doing here with us, with Quicksilver."

"What? My cupid story isn't holding up? He wanted Rogue, so I-"

"I want to know-"

"Or what?" Carol rolled her eyes. "You'll hurt me? Doesn't that go against your little X-Men code of ethics? Rule number seven thousand, six hundred, and ninety five?"

Jean cocked her head. "Carol," she said, in a voice that made the blonde frown, because it was coming from somewhere foreign and strange. "You put one of my very good friends in a coma and chased another away to who knows where. Now, technically, you're right. I am an X-Man, and that's why I won't kill you, or even hurt you like you hurt Kitty. But Carol? Sweetie?" She gestured with her palm, and the blonde levitated closer.

"I can break you in ways that won't leave a scar."

"You're not that-"

"Strong?" Jean shrugged. "Your files need updating. I'm stronger than you imagine."

Twisted, Carol had been about to say, but again, she got the distinct feeling that there was something else at work behind those angry eyes than just the mind of Jean Grey, and maybe she was that twisted after all. She tried a different approach. "I work for a black-ops division. Are you really stupid enough to think that I'd share information, our greatest tool, sharpest knife, etc, with you? I've been trained to withstand more than this."

"I don't need your cooperation, Danvers. If I so choose, I can take by force. But right now, I'm only asking questions specific to this situation, nothing else. If I have to go inside your head, I'm taking it all. Every secret you've learned, every detail, every mission, every plan. The choice is yours."

"I'll be compromised," Carol said. "What you're suggesting is grounds for immediate dismissal. They'll fire me."

"But if I do it my way…"

"They'll probably want to kill me. You're right. Our files do need updating."

Jean folded her arms. "Start already."

"My name is Carol Danvers. I was recruited by Professor Char-" She stopped abruptly, and her words morphed into a gasp as something inside of her _burned_. She leaned forward, arms wrapping around her stomach, but truthfully the pain wasn't located anywhere normal. Not in her head, her arms, her chest, her legs… it just _was_.

"Try again." That was Jean's earnest suggestion, when Carol looked up and their eyes met. "It gets progressively worse, so you might want to consider how many times you're going to do that."

"My name is Carol Danvers. I was recruited by Professor Cha- ah, damn it!" Her eyes were blurry, but she couldn't move to wipe them. The feeling had indeed grown more intense.

"Either silence or the truth. I don't accept anything else."

"My name is Carol Danvers. Professor Xavier invited me- hell! I'm gonna freakin' _kill_ you!" She wrapped her hands up in her hair and nearly swallowed her tongue in biting down the scream. Another curse was lost in the effort.

"Again?" Jean wondered.

"My name is Carol Danvers." The blonde repeated. She quickly went on. "I- I'm two years older than I claim to be. My powers manifested four years ago and I was taken in by the Falcon Four division and trained. I did…random missions, until the names Xavier and Lensherr became mentioned more and more frequently. We, or rather, my superiors, don't want mutants getting the kind of wide spread attention you bring, so I was instructed to infiltrate both bases and tear them apart. I prepared for two years, mostly building up mental defenses so that none of the telepaths around would pick up on anything unless they searched.

After reviewing, I decided that Rogue and Pietro would aid me, however unwittingly. I hoped to use Rogue's record as a former terrorist to create conflict within your team. I convinced Pietro that I could help him drive a wedge between the X-Men and Rogue, thus making it easier for her to return back to her former allegiance. Once you all turned on each other, I was going to reveal myself to the other teams. Imagine: Magneto's own son working for a homo Sapien cause. He'd throw the boy out or keep him. Didn't matter. His loyalty or his judgment would be put in question."

Jean narrowed her eyes. "What about Rogue's power. Your contact. Was that real?"

"Yes. After extensive research, my superiors believed that I'd have a reaction similar. There was a chance I'd be absorbed completely, as has been confirmed by your doctors, but often, missions are dangerous. I didn't question the orders when they told me to touch her. Learning about her affair with Remy sped things up. A lot. Unfortunately, Katherine Pryde woke up too soon."

"Is that everything?"

"Almost."

"Except what?" Jean wondered.

Finally, Carol had a reason to smirk. Not quite the upper hand, but close enough. "Your trusted friend, Dr. Johan Franklin, or Clark, if I'm still feigning ignorance… he's involved with the Society of Good Men."

Jean blinked, looking more like her old goody-goody self. "The what?"

* * *

"The Society of Good Men," Carol explained to the group, "is a collection of scientists, not unlike GenCo, who operate outside of the world governments. No one knows where they're located, and most people –even informed agency people- don't know they exist at all. They believe in advancing science at any and all costs. It was not until yesterday when Franklin stepped beside me that I recognized the insignia on his ring: a thorny, petal-less stem."

"A stem?" Kurt repeated.

"Symbolizing the sacrifice of beauty in favor of knowledge." She said.

"Great."

"I don't know what they wanted at your mansion, but you can be certain that I never was your greatest threat."

Scott rubbed Jean's arm, asked quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a little winded. The Ph-"

"Isn't real," he said, firmly. "There's only you and your power."

"Okay." She said. "Well, me and my power got carried away a few minutes ago and I'll need a few more minutes to recover."

He nodded and turned back to Carol. "Why should we believe you? You've done nothing but lie."

The blonde scoffed. "Please, I was almost burned alive from the outside in a few minutes ago, all right? I'm not in a mood for your crap. I'm doing this for money: enough to make up this year's paycheck, which I won't be getting since someone ruined my career."

"How will they know?"

"They'll know. The how is insignificant."

Kurt folded his arms. "So now we have another evil organization to combat? I thought finding Carol was supposed to clear up ze mess."

"Clark said something to Rogue, before they both vanished. Maybe she's the one they're after."

"But how are we going to find her?"

"Da necklace!" Remy said, suddenly. He'd been strangely silent for most of the day, but he came alive with those two words.

"I have no idea what that means," Jean said.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Chere. I'll explain." He reached into his pockets. "Rogue has a necklace wit' a microphone inside. I got da other end. Don't start askin' questions 'bout dat now just…let me finish, oui? If I activate it, we'll be able t' hear what she's sayin' an' what's bein' said around her."

He showed them a small box in his palm. Silently, he pressed the button.

One second passed…

Two seconds passed…

There was a crackle…

No one was quite sure what to expect, but-

"_Joseph! Don't get so flustered. Act like y' never been on a bed with a girl before_."

that wasn't it.

* * *

"Ah used ta sleep here," Rogue said, as she sat on the edge of the plain bed Joe used as his own. "On some nights, when Mystique an' Irene were both away, Ah'd come in this room, just in case the monsters tried ta find me, they wouldn't know where ta look."

He shook his head. "It's behind those doors," he said, gesturing towards two large doors that she knew opened into a walk in closet.

"Well go on an' open 'em, then."

"The key is my bed."

"Ah." Rogue nodded and stood up, allowing him to search for the key. He accidentally hit the wall, though, and one of the decorative porcelain dolls –the expensive ones Mystique was once given as thanks for something- tumbled off the wall and landed on the sheet beside Joe. He winced, as if afraid he'd broken it.

Rogue just shook her head. "Joseph! Don't get so flustered. Act like y' never been on a bed with a girl before."

* * *

_To be continued…some more. _

A few post-story notes: So you know, there's nothing wrong with Rogue. She wasn't brainwashed or poisoned and she certainly isn't Stepford Rogue. She hit rock bottom last chapter, and now she's just trying to claw her way back up instead of wallowing in self-pity. Rogue and Remy weren't the big feature of this chapter, but they've been scene hogs for a while now and sharing is caring. Hey, I bought a month of just to try it out (I get a picture in profile now!) and I've realized for the first time that there are a lot more hits to this story than reviews. So, if you're one who reads but doesn't review… allow me to offer you this nice, shiny treasure in return for breaking that bad habit. No peeking until after the review!

All reviews will be donated to the Comfort Writers Approaching Midterms Foundation. Don't wait; act now, before it's too late. Together, you can make a difference in one little writer's life!

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileen Blazer at Yahoo. I love to talk!

P.S. Read Alara's Xanadu.


	13. Thirteen

Review responses have moved back to their original location at the end of the chapter, in an effort to make room for the Things of Note section:

1) On Joseph. I didn't really give any history on Joseph because I figured a lot of people would remember him from the comic canon, and those who didn't weren't really missing out. But, people think he's old! It's the hair, isn't it? In the comic canon, Joseph was a clone of Magneto and appeared to be young, and though worthy of painful torture because of his role in keeping R & R apart, was actually kind of pretty. Like him, the Joseph in this story has white/silver hair _but is Remy's age_.

2) Review please?

That in mind, I ask you to read on.

**Chapter 13**

Joe's heart beat faster as he unlocked the closet door. From the corner of his eye, he could see Rogue waiting, her hands folded across her lap, expression empty and he thought, it his first chance to fill it with something good: a smile, a twinkle, an amused raise of the eyebrow. Ever since he'd been brought to the house, he'd waited for that chance. It was stupid, his infatuation, but like a moth to flame, he'd been guided towards her against all reason. Here he was, a man of numbers and logic and cold, hard facts, how was it possible that he'd fallen victim to the oldest romantic cliché in the world: love at first sight? And not even that, but love at first sight of a _picture_. A two-dimensional photograph.

_Pathetic, pathetic_, he told himself, not quite caring either way. All that mattered was that she was around and waiting patiently for him to show her what he'd built so far of the Chamber. _What would she think of the room_?

His hand hesitated on the handle. Joe knew what lay on the other side of the door, knew the twisted path of colorful wires that were attached to his computer and the scattered gadgets, some he needed for the Chamber, others he'd built when his mind was too restless to focus on the project. It was all he had of himself, really, just that ability and those creations.

Of course, he reminded himself; Rogue would be must more interested in the Chamber than in any of his random projects. He gave her a small smile and pulled open the doors. There was a moment of silence. He saw her lean forward, as she tried to get a better view, no doubt. Then, she laughed. "Joseph." She murmured, "What is that?"

"It's the Chamber," he tried to explain. "I still have to-"

"No…that." One pale, pointy finger stuck out, indicating a direction totally opposite of the Chamber. He frowned.

"That?"

"Yeah."

He walked over to the area and bent down. His hands lifted up a tiny Robot Joe. "I couldn't sleep one night," he explained. "I came in the room and started working. I hope you don't mind that I took your likeness too-" He glanced at the Robot Rogue. She sat in the center of a small town, with streets made out of flattened aluminum and buildings of smudged copper. All around her, there were others. A little Mystique was halfway through morphing into one of her alter egos. Irene was nearby, with glasses and a cane. Behind them, there was a gathering of people.

"How did ya work the metal like this?" Rogue asked.

"Just talented, I guess."

"Wow." She breathed, clearly impressed.

He skimmed over her with his eyes. "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

Gambit thought very bad thoughts about Rogue's cross. And then, because he'd spent too many years in the company of nuns, forced his mind away before he started feeling guilty. There was a very real chance that Rogue was being pursued by an evil organization of scientists, and that left him no time to stop by the confession booth and clear his conscience. He stared at the receiver in his hand –turned off for the protection of his sanity- and wondered how things had spiraled out of control so fast.

He knew, by this time, that Rogue and Joseph were not, in fact, sleeping together. That crazy assumption had lasted only for a moment, before the conversation crackling along the line had turned towards some kind of toy city. But it didn't change the fact that Rogue had sounded so _comfortable_ around this Joe person.

And Joe? That had to be the most common name in the whole history of common names. Joe. Joseph. Jose. Giuseppe. No matter how it was pronounced, it sounded dull, plain, and stupid. But Rogue was with Joe and Remy was stuck… in the van.

They were five minutes or so away from the mansion, and all crammed into a van. It wasn't quite most comfortable of places to be, when one considered everyone present: him, a brooding Acolyte, the traitor Carol, arrogant Pietro, and Jean Grey the Obviously Troubled. They were a strain on even Scott's mediation skills. It helped, somewhat, that Kurt Wagner was around, to break up the tension, but…

"Hey." Jean, who happened to be sitting shotgun, adjusted her position so that she could look at him better. "That was a good idea with the cross. Putting it in there in the first place was obviously an incredibly dumb thing to do, but it'll probably come in handy now. I've been communicating with Kitty and she thinks she can tap into the satellite receiver and give us an exact location for Rogue."

"Good news," he answered.

"It's not enough that we find her," Scott said. "We need to know more about this Society of Good Men. If they're determined, they might make a second attempt at capturing her and we need to be prepared."

"What part of secret society don't you understand?" Carol scoffed. "These guys are just shadows. Untraceable. It's not like they advertise: this week only, special Society of Good Men t-shirts on sale at Macy's!"

"The back could read: Smart and Psycho," Kurt mused.

"Or, 'evil fits me to a T'."

"Is dat a syringe o' poison in yo' pocket, or are you just happy t' see me?" Everyone shared a smile, until they remembered who they were sharing with. Eyes were quickly averted.

* * *

So… there was a serious Russian boy standing on the front porch. Kitty Pryde cast a nervous glance behind her, worried that someone would notice her out of bed; but Xavier had left a message requesting assistance and the people that weren't caught up in helping Rogue went to help him instead.

She leaned a great deal of her weight on the doorframe, because her legs weren't nearly as strong as she would've like, and watched the Russian boy –Piotr Rasputin, the file said- gather up his thoughts enough to speak. Waiting was just fine for her; it gave her a chance to study him up close. He was so tall she had to lift her chin into the air to get a good look at him, so broad around the shoulders she wondered how he managed to find clothes that fit that well, and so handsome she hated that Magneto had gotten to him first.

Sure, the file said 'bad guy', but there was an endearing quality in the way he looked, like a child trying to face a reprimand with grace. Her hand wanted to reach out and pet him, but she held it fast to her side. Luckily this was an easy accomplishment: the hand in question was wrapped up in a cast.

"I'm here for Rogue," he said finally. And she'd had a dream like this once, where the mansion had been flooded with adorable guys all looking for Rogue, Rogue, Rogue.

She'd cut back on the Brady Bunch marathons after that.

Kitty said, "She's not here. Can I take a message?"

He shifted his weight to the other foot. "Yes. I'd her to know that what she saw earlier wasn't what it seemed. Gambit and Belladonna aren't a couple. Belladonna's been trying to force the issue, but Gambit has remained steadfast and faithful."

A short laugh escaped his lips and Piotr shook his head. "I feel like I'm in one of those shows…"

"A soap opera?" Kitty supplied, as she laughed, too. "I know what you mean."

"Are you… all right?" Piotr asked, while he passed a gaze over her. He looked startled at her appearance, like he'd just seen her condition for the first time.

"No," she answered. "But I will be. You're Piotr, aren't you?"

"And you're Katya. I suppose we've both read the papers."

"Listen, we're still trying to locate Rogue right now, but Gambit and the others are on their way back. If you want, you can come inside and wait for them." She flashed him a grin. "I could use the company."

"You don't mind that I'm an Acolyte?"

"Oh, don't get the wrong idea. This new girl we've got, Betsy, can totally kick your ass if you make any evil tries at something." She pulled back the door a bit. "Come on, Petey. You look like you need a rest anyway."

* * *

Carol literally flew out of the van, and Jean couldn't blame her. The atmosphere was close to suffocating. So many people with so much on their minds, it was… chaotic for a telepath. Everyone always assumed that when she knew things about them, it was because she'd been nosy and searched their minds, but honestly, she had little choice in the matter. People were always projecting. It took an honest effort on her part to keep them out. With the strengthening of her powers –or, with the rise of the Phoenix, as she liked to call it, for she still believed there was another being acting in conjunction with herself, some symbiote they'd yet to discover- it was even harder to keep other people's thoughts out of her head.

She closed her eyes to the breeze and felt the wind move through her. The unsettling feeling she'd had during Carol's interrogation was being to dissipate somewhat. Jean tried to concentrate on Franklin, who'd passed by her so often and had never given off any strange vibe.

"Come on," Scott whispered in her ear, as he urged her on. "We have to go inside."

But she'd latched on to a certain something and needed a moment. "Scott," she said.

"What is it?"

"Why weren't we able to tell about Franklin? We should've."

"You didn't know about Carol, either. It's okay. No one expects you to do a thorough scan of everyone's mind as soon as you meet them, Jean."

"But Carol gave off some senses," Jean argued. "I could tell when she was annoyed, when she was tired, there were a couple of random sentences I heard. I got nothing from Franklin. I assumed it couldn't have been important since the professor didn't mention it to me, but now that I think of it, it's weird. Its like his mind was blank."

Scott frowned –she felt that. "Could they have done a mind wipe to prepare him?"

"I guess," she agreed. "It's just that people, even people without memories, they experience and think and project. That's just how it works."

"So you're saying…"

"It's almost like he didn't have a mind at all."

"But he talks." Scott reasoned.

Jean shrugged. "So does your computer." She sighed and moved along inside the mansion walls, and wished all the while that Xavier were around so she could discuss it with him.

* * *

With all that shared time between them, Remy had thought he really knew Rogue. But as he walked through the halls towards the kitchen with her teammates, it dawned on him that their secretive relationship had left him with only part of her. They didn't discuss any of the daily stuff, like who ate her cereal and hogged the bathroom and needed her advice. There was a whole chunk of her life he didn't know about.

He saw a picture of her hanging on the wall, some random photo of her rolling her eyes while Kurt Wagner and Kitty Pryde made rabbit ears behind her head, and couldn't suppress the sigh. When she came back… they would get rid of the rules. Get rid of his affiliation with Magneto, if that's what it took. Gambit promised himself this.

"Kitty!" He heard Kurt exclaim as they entered the kitchen. He looked and saw the small brunette seated on a chair, just across the way from…

"Piotr?" Gambit crossed his arms and glared down at his teammate. "What are you doing here, _mon ami_? You Magneto's little errand boy now?"

"No." Blue eyes turned away from him. "You were right, Gambit. I've been trying so hard to convince myself that I was working for the right side, for the right reason and it's a lie. Magneto is not a good man. I should never have given you advice on the girl. I came to speak with Rogue and explain, but Katya tells me that she's missing now."

"Thanks for sharing top secret information, Kitty," Kurt groaned.

"Top secret? Look who else already knows: Gambit, Carol, and Pietro, of all people. You really want to start because I told Pete?"

"Why aren't you in bed?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Because I'm sick of that bed. I've seen too much of it lately. Thanks, Carol," she told the blonde, who was just stepping into the kitchen with the rest of the collective. She received a shrug.

"Casualty of the game," Carol said.

"How about we play again when I'm better and actually know we're fighting."

"That's enough," Scott said, as he and Jean came inside last. "Kitty-"

"I'm sitting down. I'm not exerting myself in way, all right? Just let me stay." She glared and looked resolved to remain with the rest of her friends.

Scott blinked. "Fine. I was going to ask where everyone else is."

"Oh. We got a call from Xavier. He needs some help on his front, so they figured since Rogue has you and Jean and the rest of us, they'd go to him."

"Huh. Kurt," Scott said, "Go see if you can find anything that might have a sample of Franklin's DNA and fingerprints. Brushes, papers, just whatever."

"Why are you testing his DNA?" Kitty asked, as someone handed her a laptop and the receiver. Her good hand began to move over the keyboard. "Don't we already know who is he and all that?"

"We're thinking maybe he's not who he said he was…"

"But he was an old friend of the professors." She pointed out.

"No. Johan Franklin is a friend of the professor. Maybe this wasn't the real Franklin."

"You think he's an imposter?"

"I trained for years to be able to slip past this place undetected," Carol said. "There was no way you could just shove any random person in and have them not be detected."

"I don't think he was a random person."

"Then-"

"I think he might have been a clone."

* * *

Secret agents didn't pout. So she wasn't pouting. She wasn't brooding either, although she certainly had cause. Forced into cooperating with a group of disgustingly optimistic teenagers, it was enough to drive anyone mad. This wasn't what she signed up for. She wanted that assignment in Eastern Europe, but no. Carol Danvers was destined for the X-Men and the Brotherhood and years of training that would be blown because someone underestimated Jean Grey.

She dug the toe of her black into the floor and listened to the plan. Katherine Pryde would locate Rogue Darkholme and the lot of them would rush off to rescue her from evil forces. They'd run a DNA scan on the crumpled, used tissue they'd found in Franklin's room –gross, but the only way to conduct the test. They were hoping it'd show something strange, something that would help them verify that Johan Franklin wasn't quite human.

It was a simple plan. But they worked fast and Carol had to admire them for that, however begrudgingly she did it. It was easy to see why her organization had thought the X-Men trouble. Xavier wasn't churning out lackeys at his institute: he was creating talented, ambitious crusaders. It was almost enough to make Carol…

But… no. She wasn't even a teenager anymore, not where it counted. And she was only helping the X-Men until she had her check verified, at which point she'd be setting sail for some far away and exotic isles, where no one cared about powers or politics or genetic experiments. At least in the meantime, she didn't have to suck to up anyone anymore. No pretty smiles to make her the innocent ingénue.

She noticed Pietro watching her with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," the Magneto spawn spat.

"Keep it that way." She responded.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll rip out your spine and mail it to daddy dearest as an early Christmas present. I haven't used my powers to their full extent in a long time. This will be the perfect chance to find my groove, back stabber."

"Me?" Pietro said. "You were using me to tear down my father's dreams."

"Like you would've cared if I told you. All you wanted was Rogue."

At this, Remy LeBeau looked up from his position beside Pryde and Rasputin. His eyes narrowed on the pair of them, like he thought they might be lizards wearing human skin as disguise. Not that there was any reason to believe them trustworthy, but still, Carol huffed silently, it wasn't like he was the epitome of all things honest and good. If he had been, maybe they wouldn't be looking for Rogue and-

"Got her!" Kitty said suddenly, grinning from ear to ear. "She's in… Mississippi."

"She went south," Scott said. "To her old house with Irene and Mystique. If she's gone back to them, we have to consider that she might not be willing to return with us on request. We don't want a confrontation with her. She's our friend." His words were clearly aimed at Gambit, who rolled his eyes.

"I just want my chance t' explain," the Cajun said.

"Then we want the same things," Scott responded. "Someone go check on Kurt and the DNA tests. Everyone else, get ready to leave in five minutes. We're going to Mississippi. Kitty, go back to bed."

"No way!" She protested. "I want to come!"

"I'm sorry," he said, apologetically.

"Yeah," Kitty grumbled, "So am I."

"I'll walk you," Piotr said, as he stood and offered his arm.

* * *

"We're leaving to find Rogue," Jean said, as Kurt Wagner recorded numbers for Dr. McCoy. The lone adult left in the mansion after Xavier's request, he inclined his head towards Jean. She grinned. "We'd like you to finish these tests. The results could be really important, Dr. McCoy."

"Of course."

"Kurt, you stay too. If we need you and Beast, you can get him here faster."

Jean turned to go, but a large hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her back. She looked at Beast, who was studying her with careful eyes. "You look unwell."

"I'm worried about Rogue," Jean confessed. "And… I think my prescription might not be strong enough anymore. I'd like to talk to you about strengthening it once this is over, if you don't mind."

"We'll discuss it."

"Thank you," she said, and then left the building. Outside, they were waiting for her. She took a deep breath and joined them. Together, they left to talk sense into Rogue.

* * *

"What kind of ice cream do ya want?" Rogue asked Joseph, as they stared into the cold freezer located in the far corner of the local 7-11. "Are ya in a 'Mocha Mint' mood, a 'Nutter Butter with extra nuts' mood, or a 'strawberry an' cream' mood?"

The boy licked his lips and shook his head. "Its hard to choose."

"Practically impossible," Rogue acknowledged. "Ah want it all."

"If anyone deserves it, it's you," Joseph said, as he reached out to brush hair from her face, ruddy from the cold freezer air. She rolled her eyes and made a face.

"Ah've heard that line before. But it ain't helpin' me pick an ice cream."

"Let's go with the Rocket Pops." He decided.

"Rainbow colors an' a burst o' flavor?" Rogue read the wrapper aloud. "All right." She pulled out two and handed one to him. "Your treat," she told him, while she unwrapped hers and exited the store, her entire being lighting as she moved into the sunlight, an incandescent pearl.

The cashier behind the store shook his head. "Girls. How do we survive with 'em?"

"I have no idea," Joseph sighed, as he took out his wallet and paid.

* * *

Another chapter done! Ta da! I know that it's been a while, but I've been busy. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Questions, Comments, and perhaps Coconuts can be sent to me; I am Eileenblzr at Yahoo. Come talk!

PS. I'm trying to keep this story consistent. If you notice any glaring inconsistencies, just drop me a note so I can fix it? Thank so much.

**Chico De Los Ojos Café**: I have every intention of finishing this fic, but it's nice to know that other people care about it too and I'm not just typing alone. Thanks for all your nice compliments!

**IvyZoe**: I actually like Scooter, and I try to let other people see why. I'm glad it worked and you found him acceptable. Thanks!

**Sweety8587**: Ahh! I need to protect my characters from you. You're always trying to kill them! Well, so long as you review. Thanks so much for that!

**Jade, Wanted, enchanted light**: You guys rock. Seriously, thank for all your support!

**Ish**: I trust that your usual brilliance has carried you through the stress of finals –I, sadly, am just approaching the evil things. I'm glad you've found amusement in Pietro's terrible luck. You've predicted that there'll be conflict when the X-guys come to claim Rogue, but for that… well, you'll have to wait. Ha. Thanks so much!

**Neurotic Temptress**: She IS Stormer from Jem! And she was my favorite Misfit, too! Your knowing that is good. It's truly, truly outrageous. By the way, if I had my own Synergy, she'd do all this updating junk for me. It's great to see you around again.

**Randirogue**: The X-men knew about Carol was involved in black ops because Jean recognized the Falcon Four name that Kitty heard Carol mentioning. I guess they kind of assumed that she was an agent. Something you should never do, but they did. At least they were right about it. Thanks for the review!

**Molly Mo**: There's a reason why the professor didn't know about Franklin. But speak of this to no one, for all shall reveal its course in due time –identify that quote and get a cookie.

**Cursedchick55, Betrayeddaughters**: Thank you both! Your encouragement is much appreciated! Hope to see you both around again soon.

**Howlerdrode**: As a general rule, I don't particularly care for Carol, but she's an essential part of Rogue's history. I'm really glad you read this and thank for reviewing! You're awesome. Keep writing yourself.

**Texasgrr**l: Your donation is much appreciated. Thank you, kind soul.

**Elena**: Woah. You read it all in one go. That actually scares me, 'cause then I have to make sure that the consistency holds up, you know? I'm glad you found this worth your time! I actually have considered letting Rogue and Joe be together. Don't worry. I'm nowhere near done with Joey.

**Lonewolf44, MwrulesC, Silver Ink, jeremie, cat2fat900, faire childe, scarey-kid, ****Kitsu Lebeau**: Hi. I tried to go out and buy you all presents in honor of your too-kind reviews, but alas, I am but a poor college student and apparently, fifty cents buys you jack in this world. In lieu of expensive presents, I offer you my greatest thanks instead. And this piece of lint.

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**Kouken no Kouchou**: Thanks for the terrific reviews. Your compliments came on a day when I really needed it. I hope you stick around and aren't disappointed. Thanks again!

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